


Theurgist

by dragonswithjetpacks



Series: Ferelith Moonshade - The Book Keeper [1]
Category: Baldur's Gate, Forgotten Realms
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Enemies, Medium Burn, Yearning, snarky flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29080008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonswithjetpacks/pseuds/dragonswithjetpacks
Summary: When she's gone, there is no control. Thoughts of the book disappear. The voice in her head is silenced. The tadpole forgotten as it sits dormant. As long as she's lost in him, she wouldn't need to think. And for that moment, she can be free. Take out the truth of it all, despite it being based on sheer curiosity. Throw it away. She needed to hear the lies. Needed to hear whatever she wanted so she could completely submerse herself into the false feeling. To be intertwined with him feeding her a reality that would never exist in where she can be herself again. To take away her fear of the bonds committing to yet another thing...
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Female Charname (Baldur's Gate)
Series: Ferelith Moonshade - The Book Keeper [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092497
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	1. A Crone Warns of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> A rework of my previous Astarion x Ferelith works turned into a full fledged fic.

The cool breeze brought from the afternoon shift in the clouds rustled the papers like frantic fingers in the loft of the library. There was the sudden sound of wood scraping against wood as the assistant pushed the ladder against the far the wall, rushing up it to close the the open window. It fluttered just out of her grasp, but with reflexes as quick as hers, there was little that escaped. She clutched the brass handle on the inside of the pane and pulled it against the sill tightly.

"Alright," she said quietly to herself. "There will be none of that today."

With a satisfied grin, she descended the steps, brushing off the front of her apron with it's many pockets. Noticing the disarray on the table, she turned to assess the damage. The notes were shifted a bit, but no harm was done to the original organization of the writings. As she picked them up, stacking them on top of each other with out of order pages between fingers, she took a quick glimpse at the writings. There were glyphs, many of which she knew, with incantations and rituals written in the margins. To the sides were components, mostly those of a a higher value, and the effects of the time of day the ritual would be cast. Her pale yellow eyes scanned over them quickly, but her research was cut short by the tapping of a loud cane up the wooden staircase.

"Ferelith! Ferelith, what have I told you about closing the window!"

For years Ferelith had studied the fey and their affect on the wild. The combinations of natural phenomenon and magical abilities were her specialty. Down to the very point her soul had fused with the fey itself. And yet, here she was... looking after an old bookshop replicating old tomes for a daft, blind, and nearly deaf old woman. The thoughts always lingered how she came to be in Baldur's Gate, why she had been there for so long. And it always brought her back to her simple path. The path of knowledge. One that rested in a single tome that she kept in her breast pocket at all times. A small tome with words that were unfamiliar to her.

"Get up there and open that window! I can't stand this stuffy place."

"Let me gather the papers, first, please," she bustled even quicker around the table.

"Don't leave such a mess and you wouldn't have to worry about!"

The old crone remained vigilant in the doorway. Her eyes could not see the study in where Ferelith worked, but she knew the shop as if it were part of her very flesh. And she required an open window for ventilation. This bothered the warlock she had employed, of course. As Ferelith was very adamant about closing all windows and doors to protect the books inside from ware. The old woman, though, she knew better. And she grinned knowingly as she could hear her assistant scrambling about the room.

"Oh how I long for your death," she grumbled quietly between gritted teeth.

"What was that?"

"How long until we receive winter's breath?" she perked her head up with a charming smile.

"How am I supposed to know that? Check the ledger."

"Right of course," she smiled just as the woman ducked down the hall out of sight. "Of course I'll check the ledger... the ledger I write in every day... that I memorize... you crazed old bat."

The woman was a terror to her stress, but she was beyond capable of producing ancient spells. No one believed this, of course. Which is why she ran a bookshop on a corner of the most run down part of Baldur's Gate. And it's why she sold makeshift herbs and potions on the side. And also why she agreed to hire Ferelith to begin with. It was low income, but she had endless access the tomes as well as a cot to sleep within the loft. The dust did her no good, but she had become quite friendly with the spiders and mice.

More importantly, she was left to study to her heart’s content once her work was finished. Being a transcribe would have been a difficult task for most. But Ferelith was different. With being a warlock and holding a close connection to her patron, she was able to read any language placed in front of her. This was something she used to make coin often during her early years of adventure and excitement. Though now, this was her career. A path she had chosen to stay comfortable as she pursued other and more important goals. For the past ten years, all Ferelith had known was the feeling of a quill at her fingertips, the beautiful art of calligraphy, and the constant image of words floating through her vision.

This kept her patron content. For the majority of the time. There were days it longed for the forest. And in those days, she would travel to gardens. Or to the edge of Neverwinter. But for the most part, he was happy to lose himself in a book just as she was. He was eager to learn. And she was happy to oblige. The more they learned together, the more they could use against the spell against them. She patted the book in her breast pocket lovingly with a sigh. The true meaning of a blessing... and a curse. It was best not to dwell on nostalgia, though, and she picked up a broom to head downstairs to close the shop for the night. There was a project that awaited her finishing touches. And she never left a book waiting.

* * *

Scratches of quill on paper filled the dusty loft among shelves of mahogany. A window open in the upper part of the high ceiling welcome a gentle breeze. Her papers shifted atop her writing desk causing her hands to leap out in haste to catch them. The damned window. Just a few more sentences and she was almost done. One hand resumed it’s stance, spread over the tome and holding it open so she could read the dwarvish inside. The other was equipped with her pen waving and twirling around giant pages, filling them with the common tongue others could understand. With a heavy sigh, she made her final dot.

"There," she said, sitting up and stretching her back that had been slumped over for several hours.

Sliding from the the chair, she grabbed her cloak that was draped over the back. She wrapped it around her, ignoring the scarf as the night seemed quite lovely outside despite the breeze. She climbed up the latter, shutting the window, and climbed back down, dusting her hands onto her apron once more. Carefully, she began to wrap the book she was reading into a burlap cloth. She placed it into an over shoulder bag on a coat rack nearby. And she repeated the process with three other books that rested nearby. Once the ink had dried on the book she had written in, she flipped through it one last time. A month's work finally finished. She shut the book, admiring it's deep blue cover and golden embroidery. It was too large to place into the bag.

"You're going out?" a throaty voice said from the doorway, disturbing her admiration for her own creation.

The disheveled old woman stood the doorway watching Ferelith run her hand across the book. She shifted onto her cane, her feet already bothering her from standing too long.

"The Thornbeards are eager customers," Ferelith slung the strap over her head. "They'll be grateful for the late delivery so long they don't have to wait until morning."

"Fair enough," the woman nodded. "Be careful tonight, Ferelith... It's dark out."

The cryptic bat was warning her, but she took most of her notions of danger with a grain of salt. The woman had barely left the comfort of her shop since Ferelith had started living there. She had done the shopping, the organizing, the promoting of their business, the deliveries. In truth, it had appeared the book shop was Ferelith's. Time would only tell if she would inherit it. Or it would get swallowed up with the rest of the run down buildings in a pile of dust when the woman passed.

"Don't worry," Ferelith grinned. "If I don't came back, that will give you the excuse you need to hire a much younger and handsome hand."

"Bah," the woman waved her hands. "Jokes all the time. Jokes from you. See if I care."

Ferelith touched her shoulder gently as she passed by with a sarcastic smile. Her feet were quick down the steps as she was determined to end the night. The taps of a cane echoed through the shop, even down to the lower floor where Ferelith searched her pockets for her keys. It was the last thing she heard as she left, turning to shut the door behind her and locking it with her silver keys. She took a look up at the old building, her home. For now. Just above, she could see the moon blanketed heavily by clouds. There would be no stars to light her way that night. The old crone was right... the night was dark indeed.

It was a long walk into the upper part of town. The district Ferelith resided in was known to be a rather unwealthy and large area commonly known as Heapside. While not entirely littered with crime, it still had it's fair share of homeless and pickpockets. Most of the buildings on the street she lived on were abandoned. And the shops that did exist were on their last leg. It was a mystery how the old woman had managed to have such a prosperous collection and business. Then again, Ferelith had raised it's reputation tenfold since her arrival. The beautiful elf with dark hair and a cold voice with an ethereal demeanor that could transcribe nearly anything was highly sought after. Yes... she was well known. Even to the extent of the some of the higher districts. Which was precisely where she was headed.

The wind began to pick up and it felt much colder than before. Ferelith looked up to the moon now completely covered in the sky. She had not sensed rain nor smelled it. Perhaps the old woman was right. There was an eeriness to the air. Picking up her pace, she began to trot down the street. She twisted and turned, careful which alleyways she ducked into. Until finally she had reached the black iron fence of the Thornbeards. It was a grand estate with two wondrous statues of goats at the door. Ferelith marched up the carved stone stairs and took the the door handle into her hand. She knocked loudly three times. And waited. The door opened, a good sized with dwarf with dark hair pulled back into a braid appearing to answer with alert eyes.

"Lady Moonshade?" he said, bringing his candle closer to her face. "My lady, it's terrible late."

"I'm sorry to trouble you, Brunan," she took the pack from off her shoulder still clutching the book in her hand. "But I've come to return Lord Thornbeard's collection."

"You're not bothering me at all!" he happily took the bag from her. "I'm just afraid for your safety, my dear!"

"No need to fret," she held her work proudly in both hands. "This is well worth it. The final piece."

She held it out, the gold shimmering in the candle light. Brunan's eyes widened at the sight of it. He sat the candle down at the edge of the stone railing and took the book into his own hands. Opening it carefully, he cherished the sound of the spine cracking. The old groundskeeper smiled, looking down at the first page, and seeing the tree drawn onto it.

"I didn't know you were an artist," he said.

"I'm most certainly not," she grinned. "It's a copy. From one of the originals."

"The family will be quite pleased with this. I'm sure," he nodded slowly. "You're done us a great services, Ferelith."

"That means more than you," she crossed her hands in front of her. "I can expect payment on the morning?"

"Always the greedy one, aren't we?" he chuckled. "Of course. But I do have something for you."

"Oh?" he ears perked.

Brunan leaned inside, setting the book down onto a corner table. He opened a drawer, pulling out a small wooden box. It was stained and smelled of sweet cherry wood. When Ferelith took it, she felt the smooth surface beneath her hand. It was fine craftsmanship. She lifted the lead seeing a red velvet cloth inside. And beneath that, a red leather bound book. The pages were crisp and white. And sewn into the cover was a red velvet bookmark.

"Lord Thornbeard wanted to thank you personally. But you know words aren't his forte."

"No," Ferelith smiled. "This is perfect. Thank you."

"I believe we are thankful to you. The family history will reside on Thornbeard shelves for generations."

"If there's anything else you need, Brunan, do not hesitate to visit us."

"In the meantime, Lady Moonshade, you take care."

"Until then," she gave a slight bow.

Brunan nodded back, shutting the door and disappearing inside. Ferelith took a step down, still staring at the door and listening. There was a slight shout from a distant room and she knew the lord of the house had his commission bestowed onto him. Finally pleased with herself, she took her leave, pulling her cloak tightly around her. It had somehow gotten colder. That didn't seem to affect the night life of the upper district, though. The tavern nearby was bustling and she could hear the music playing loudly from an open window. She paused for a moment, peering inside from her place on the cobblestone road. There were finely carved wooden chairs, polished tables, fancy lit sconces, and beautiful tapestries. The nobles dancing inside were all dressed in fine silks and embroidered robes. Ferelith looked down at her old tattered tunic. It had been nearly a century since she had last worn a dress.

Just as her mind began to wander back to her previous lives, a loud bang echoed through the streets. Pouring out of the now wide open door came two gentlemen, one with his arm wrapped around the other. They were smiling, smitten with one another. She lowered her hands, scanning over them. Clearly, they were drunk. For a moment, she thought they would not notice her. But one did. He looked up, his eyes shooting a warning glare. Ferelith did not get the best look at the man. But she noted his eyes and could only describe them with a single word of hunger. They stared at one another until he disappeared into the alley nearby. It wasn't the effort to follow and she began to head back down the road to her little and safe bookshop.

Until she heard a scream. Ferelith turned toward the alleyway, hearing the piercing cry of a man. She ran, feeling the books in her apron slapping against her thighs. She had forgotten to remove it. But it did not matter. She rounded the corner and followed the sounds. A scream had been silenced. And then more shouting ensued. The horrors of what she found left her speechless as she skidded to a halt in front of a pool of blood. A man lay face down, a hole bore into the top of his skull. Ferelith looked up, a tall tentacled monster holding another man by the neck.

"Do something!" he shouted before it tightened it’s grip

"What is this?" she faltered, her eyes widening.

Her presence alarmed the humanoid creature, drawing its small yellow eyes to her attention. She stumbled back, her feet ready to run. But she held fast.

_It's no use._

The voice in the back of her head was right. It usually was. She looked to the man, helpless and squirming against the wall. This was not her fight. And she was certain it was one not worth winning.

"Don't you _dare_ leave me," the man gurgled, the hand wrapped around his neck tightening.

The creature reached out and Ferelith felt a tug at her head. The voice inside her thoughts cried out in pain, but Ferelith herself resisted. Red streaks of lightening flew across her fingertips as an anger trigger within. She began to run toward the monster, casting forth a blast of energy. The thing dodged, dropping the man to his knees and allowing him to gasp for air. Ferelith had no weapons, only her wits. If she could stall for just a bit longer, perhaps he could help. But as he looked up, she saw he would be of no use. Ferelith turned back to the humanoid, realizing how grave her mistake was. His hand reached out again. And Ferelith felt a cold grasp reach into her mind. Her feet lifted from the ground. It felt as if the air itself was suffocating her. The monster looked down to white haired man, striking him across the face with its other hand and causing him to fall unconscious. She began to gasp desperately. Everything turned black. And she never felt her body hit the ground.


	2. The Voice of Survival

Everything felt... hot...

The air was corrupted with smoke...

Sounds were muffled over the loud ringing, protruding her ears...

_Get up. Now. Hurry._

But the voice was clear. Ferelith stirred as her thoughts were wakened. She lifted on her hands, her arms sore and surely bruised. Her back ached. Her head throbbed. But as everything suddenly became clear around her, she wondered if she was waking into a nightmare. The floors burned, their smoke billowing out a torn wall to the side. She could barely see the red mountains flying by.

"Where am I?" her heart began to race.

_Calm down._

She ran over to the gaping hole, leaping over the fire and careful with where she placed her hands. Ferelith leaned out but only found her waking nightmare was worse. Much worse. The Hells swarmed with demons around the vessel. She could not make out the ship itself, but could see far enough to know it was big. And it was heavily damaged. They were going to crash.

_We have to move._

Ferelith turned, seeing the large cauldron in which the tadpole had been pulled from. It didn't seem real but when she concentrated, she could feel it inside her. Something was wrong. But the voice in her head had nothing to say about it. It only begged her to press on. She heeded it, checking the room for anything useful before finding a way to leave the room. The walls looked as if they were made of flesh. Hardened flesh, but still flesh in texture nonetheless.

 _There_.

Her mind pulled her to an awkward looking fold in the wall. And as she approached, it opened. Ferelith hadn't the slightest idea of where to go. Or what to do. But only knew she needed to move forward. If she could get to the deck of the ship, she could find a way to get out. She entered the next room and came to a halt. Dead imps littered the floor of what appeared to be an illithid study. There was what she assumed to be desks and chairs. Brains of... research? No... she peered closer... it was arranged in an artistic way, as if it were a display.

"Disgusting..." she wrinkled her nose.

She tapped the glass but the fleshy things inside did not move. A sudden urge to push it over overcame her but she settled for the thought of it bursting when the ship exploded on the way down. Which reminded her...

"Do you know where we are?"

_Hell._

"Of course," she sighed, looking the study over once more for something useful.

She found a knife.

"Do you know how to get back?"

_Not my realm._

"Not your problem, then. I suppose you'll go with the book. Assuming it survives."

_You'll survive._

"How encouraging," her eyes fell to a cloth heap atop one of the desks.

She patted her body, noting her apron and cloak had been removed. She panicked, reaching into a pocket behind her vest. The feeling of old leather touching her fingertips brought her comfort. The book was still there. Good. Ferelith marched over the table, grabbing the cloth to ensure it was her apron. It felt heavy and she began to frantically search the pockets. Four books. All of them were small. There was a pack nearby that she quickly pulled to her side. Opening it quickly, she shook out its contents. Hardly anything useful, just as her luck had always determined. She looked around the room, rummaging through other notes and packs, shoving what she could into her new bag. The books she wrapped carefully into her apron. The one on her person, however, remained in her vest pocket.

"Alright," she attempted to charge the energy into her hands. "Let's go."

The red light flickered at her tips for a moment. And when she felt what was compared to a dull heat in the depths of her thoughts, the sparks burst into flame. Not only was she eager to fight her way through the ship... her patron was thirsty as well.

* * *

_Looking down, she could see her hands moving quickly across the table, gathering notes as she shoved them into a black bag. They were her hands. But she could not control them. They were already moving on their own. And yet, she was the one moving them... though it was long ago. The footsteps echoed down the hall and she knew there was little time. Something pushed her, but she wanted to stay. The thoughts were too loud, but his were always louder. It made her drop the bag. It made her crawl through the window. And it made her climb down, causing her to eventually fall to break her arm on impact. The pain shot through to her shoulder, but it reminded her that her legs were perfectly fine. She ran. It was all she could do as it cursed her for insolence._

_He buried himself into the darkness and she could see the branches on his back shift as he hunched into the corner of her mind. Ferelith called to him, but he did not answer. It was just as before. Only this time, it was not her fault. And she pleaded for him to come back into the light. He did not move. It was as if he could not even hear her. There was a block in their path. He sunk lower, clutching his knees as his head bowed the ground. His shadow was cast against her. And in the light... she stood alone..._

“Fian!”

The sand around her shifted as she shot up, her eyes frantically searching for a being that could not possibly exist in this realm on the beach. Her breathing steadied as she realized she was at the very least alive. The images she had seen were not the premonition of her death. And perhaps her patron was safe after all. Searching for him was difficult, however. Her head ached each time she tried to call upon him. The only thing she felt was the uneasy squirming of something beneath her eye. The worm. With a slow and steady hand, she rotated to witness the absolute devastation. The nautiloid was burning before her.

“No,” she frantically looked about her for any sign of civilization.

Given her limited sight through the smoke, there was none. Only a vast line of trees, a moving body of water, and a cliff surrounded by sand. Her mind began to throw itself into a state of panic. And there was nothing to ease her from it. The silent chatter had already begun.

“I have to do this on my own,” she clutched her chest, feeling the convulsions start. “Think, Ferelith. Remember. What is the last thing you remember?”

She shut her eyes tightly, using whatever she had to trigger her memories. Thankfully, it gave her what she wanted. The whispers stopped. And she remembered the ship. A green woman; a githyanki. Imps. Illithid. Dragons.. A portal. Her eyes burst open.

“A portal!” she shouted, getting onto her feet.

Her mind traced the setting just before she fell. The ship had crashed outside of Baldur’s Gate, she was sure. But she was uncertain of where. It did not matter. What she needed now was to get moving. The longer she sat, the weaker she became. Once she found a place to camp, some supplies, and a bit to eat, her head would clear. And her patron, with any luck, would return after some meditating. Feeling the large gash on the side of her head, she guessed that it was the impact that sent him away. Unless… no. He wouldn’t have given his space to the tadpole so easily.

She rose to her feet, dusting the sand off and taking another to absorb her surroundings. Her pack was nearby in brush and she waded through the sand to reach it. Slinging it over her shoulder, she glanced down the shoreline. A litter of dead bodies were scattered along the beach. With a heavy sigh, she approached one, digging through his pockets and taking what was salvageable. As she approached the dock, she noticed the men had been fishing when the crash happened. Which meant there was a village somewhere nearby… unless the ship landed on it.

“Sorry about your luck,” she whispered to one, reading over a love letter she found in his breast pocket.

Ferelith gently tossed the unfolded note back onto the body. Again, she needed to think. Loudly. She needed to be aware of her own thoughts. The more she remained in control, the more he would know she was still aware. She needed to think about surviving. There were at least two others she saw in a right state of mind when the ship crashed. If they survived as she had, there was a good chance they would be able to band together. It would certainly give her the defense she needed for the time being. She could see feel power within her, but she was afraid it wouldn’t be enough to fight for long. The sparks she summoned to her finger tips were dull. And the only weapon she had was the dagger she found on the ship. It would have to do.

There were more bodies that trailed down and the beach. And there was no shame to Ferelith as she searched them as well for what she needed; a potion or two, a few coins, a keepsake locket that might be worth coin. She threw everything into her bag in a hurry. The faster she got away from the ship, the better. She was starting to see corpses of the inhabitants within it and knew they would be patrolling close by. Just as she looked up the cliff side for a way up, she began to hear a series of loud banging. Followed by angry shouting. And as she rounded the cliff, she saw a woman, a single dark braid down her back. A survivor.

“Why won’t you _open_?” she aggressively shouted, smashing her mace into the door. “Blasted door! I-”

The woman turned before Ferelith could say anything on approach.

“Stop!” she cast a hand out as a warning, her face scouring in frustration. “Not another step or I’ll…”

Her eyes scanned over Ferelith, her hand lowering the moment she realized they recognized one another.

“Wait… you. You’re the one who tried to free me, on the ship,” the woman seemed pleased with this, almost excited that they were finally meeting outside the nautiloid. “At least you made the effort.”

Ferelith began to speak, but was cut short when a strange feeling entered her mind. A cold feeling, like a wave was caressing her brain. In the center of it was the worm, wiggling and thrashing. She felt it as well as something else. Emotions that did not belong to her. But were still somehow a part of her. She felt confusion, resolve, and gratitude. Looking up, she saw the woman clutching her head. Their eyes locked in bewilderment. Ferelith wondered what she felt. What sort of feelings her thoughts had sent. It stopped, and they both groaned in pain.

“Did you feel that?” she asked, her face transforming back into anger. “You’ve got the same thing I do. In your head.”

“Yes,” Ferelith nodded. “It’s some sort of mind swap. I felt it once before on the ship. And you can feel it, too?”

“The same,” she replied. “It must be that tadpole they put in our eyes. I assume that’s was caused our minds to… cross.”

“We have telepathic capabilities just from the worms,” Ferelith thought aloud. “It’s fascinating. Similar to the way the illitihid communicate.”

“These things are going to consume us from the inside and turn us into mind flayers,” the woman was clearly taken aback by the curiosity in Ferelith’s voice.

“Yes, I’m aware,” she sighed heavily. “It’s just strange I saw so many on the ship that had completely lost their sanity. Yet here we are. Sharing… feelings. Not exactly helpful if it’s against my will, though. I think we need to figure out our next course of action.”

“You and I need a healer. Finding one won’t be easy in this wilderness. We’ll need supplies.”

“I’ve already looted what I can from the beach,” Ferelith adjusted the strap on her back. “It’s not much, though.”

“I’m hoping something of use might be behind this door… But I’ve barely made a dent in it so far.”

Examining it and the structure around it, she gathered there could very well be something behind it. Looking up, the stone walls climbed up the bluff. There was more to the structure beyond it.

“I doubt this is the only entrance,” Ferelith pointed up. “There’s likely another way around.”

The woman looked up to where she had gestured. “Up the cliff? Yes, I suppose you’re right. I should go before more of these _creatures_ show up.”

“Well it looks like you’ve gotten this far,” Ferelith looked down at the brains and blood splattered among the sand. “But if you don’t mind grouping up, I could offer you a hand.”

“Or just company in our final moments,” she smiled. “But you’re right. Whatever lies ahead will be a little less daunting with support. You can call me Shadowheart.”

“Ferelith,” she gave a slight bow. “Perhaps we’ll find others as well.”

“All I’ve seen are these monsters. You’re the friendliest face I’ve seen so far,” she shook her head. “But you might be right. We should get moving.”

* * *

Ferelith wiped the blood off her knife, irritated with it being her only weapon for the time. Her patron was still silent. And though the other voices had not come crawling back, she knew eventually they would. The longer he remained the silent, the more danger she was putting herself in. Possibly others. And that was if the tadpole didn’t get to her first. As moved strangely inside her, she began to believe that it _was_ the reason for his sudden change and not the crash at all. She looked to Shadowheart who was observing her.

"You fight well," she nodded with a smile. "Perhaps our survival isn't such a distant prospect."

Ferelith chuckled, sheathing her knife back into her belt. “I’ve been known to slay a beast or two.”

“Those spells you cast,” she motioned to her companion, looking at her hands. “Does that make you a wizard, then?”

“Warlock, actually,” Ferelith crossed her arms awaiting the usual response of disgust.

Though, there was no judgement from Shadowheart. It surprised her greatly considering she had recently discovered her companion was a cleric. In most cases, clerics tend to shun Ferelith. There was often name calling. Or even a gasp at her corruption. As much as she had tried to reassure that there was none, very few listened to her pleas. And she had grown accustomed that not everyone was a fan of a warlock.

“Interesting,” was all she said in response, her face clearly showing how unimpressed she was.

Ferelith was ready to speak, but paused when she heard a faint voice in the distance. She lifted a hand, her head turning in the direction of the shouting.

"Do you hear that?" she asked the cleric.

"What?"

"That shouting... I think someone needs help."

" _We_ need help," Shadowheart crossed her arms.

"What if it's someone like us from the crash? Besides, we could use another hand or two."

The face of discontent lifted but she was still cross with the decision. Ferelith cared little and made her way toward the sound. As she grew closer, she could see the water just down the bank. And looking down into the brush was a man. He appeared startled and beckoned her over.

"Quick," he motioned. "Over here!"

Ferelith's eyes narrowed in an attempt to examine him further. He was dressed in fine clothes. His hair was neatly combed. And his cowardly stance told her what she needed to know. The man was of a noble class.

"It’s one of those brain things. You can kill it? Can't you? Like you killed the others?" he asked frantically.

Wonderful. Ferelith looked over to the scowling woman next to her who had managed a rather humoring grin.

"You wanted to help," Shadowheart smirked.

"Yes. Yes I did," Ferelith took a deep sigh. "Step aside."

Walking a short ways down the bank, she looked about to see where the brain monster was hiding. But when she looked through the weeds, she saw nothing. There was a rustle. And then a dash of hooves as it sprinted by. It was a boar. Then there was what she could not mistake as the sound of metal gliding through leather as a knife became unsheathed. The man wasn't only a coward, but one who was willing to stab her in the back. She turned in time to see him clutching it, holding it out to her with a steady hand. Her brow lowered as she looked at it’s point. It was no threat to her and she crossed her arms as her anger began to grow. She had been attacked enough today.

"Come any closer with that dagger and we'll see where it goes.”

The man was surprised to see her so guarded and unamused. Though she saw a hint of his hesitance, he refused to back down.

"You can _try_. But first you'll tell me what you know. I saw you on the ship. You're in league with them, aren't you? Those tentacled-" he cried out pain.

The strange cold feeling from before entered her thoughts once again, curling around her memories and causing the worm inside to writhe with joy. As if looking from his eyes, she could see dark cobblestone streets filled with bustling people. Oddly enough, his eyes saw the very same streets. Only they were empty. And she was alone. The vision faded and they were left staring at one another in the brush.

The man pulled back gasping. "What was that? What's going on?"

He took a step back to steady himself, his knife still at the ready.

"Lower the dagger," she reached for the handle of her own, "and I'll tell you everything."

Her charisma had no affect on him and he curled his lip in defiance.

"I'm not an idiot,” he spat. “It has to be those tentacled monsters. Something they did..."

The angry lines on his face softened, his guard dropping with it. Something about him changed entirely. The recognition of the streets they saw being that of Baldur’s Gate had set in. The very same street he was taken from. A memory of his own replayed in his head. He saw a woman with dark hair, hands bursting with red energy. He had felt his knees hard on the stone. And then... nothing...

"You..." he breathed.

Ferelith hadn't the slightest indication of what he had noticed, tilting her head slightly while she observed him. Her hand still lingered above the hilt of her dagger. The difference in his presentation had not change her mind just yet about his attack.

"They took you, too..." he almost sounded grateful. "I saw it during... whatever just happened. And to think I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies."

"Accepted," she stated blankly, still leaving her hand above her hilt. "But threaten me like that again, and there might be an issue. Are we clear?”

"Indeed we are," he grinned, his voice dipping very low. "Please, allow me to introduce myself."

Despite their squabble, Ferelith became increasingly intrigued by the man. Only seconds ago, his face was twisted into something fierce with a sneering tongue. It gave her the impression of something feral. And now, it was completely different. He stood with a fine posture, large soft eyes awaiting her response politely in a way that would make most women blush. And she didn’t deny it, there was a small flutter in her chest- something she pushed down quickly.

"My name's Astarion. I was in Baldur's Gate when those beasts snatched me."

Her ears perked at the mention of the city. “I hail from Baldur’s Gate.”

"Is that so?" an interested brow went up and he was certain it was the same woman from that night. "We clearly move in different circles."

"Clearly," she flattened her lips in response. “You may call me Ferelith, then.”

"So... Ferelith. Do _you_ know anything about these worms?"

"Unfortunately," she crossed her arms again with yet another sigh. "They'll turn us into mind flayers."

"Turn us into..."

Astarion's face dropped again. Though this time, it was different. It was pure disappointment bordering utter and complete sadness. He dropped his head, eyes scanning the ground as if answers would sprout up for him. There was a brief pause... and then suddenly laughter. An angry, disbelieving spout of laughter.

"Of _course_ it will turn me into a monster," he snapped back to Ferelith. "What else did I expect?"

The tone dropped again. His eyes were wide. The sadness felt heavy. Ferelith didn't know why, but she felt sorry for him. There wasn't even a reason to. Her brow lowered and before she could talk herself out of it, she gave him gentle stare.

"But, it hasn't happened yet. If we can find an expert - someone that can control these things - there might still be time."

It was an interesting choice of words. _Control._ _Still be time_. And he appeared desperate. Ferelith didn't understand, but still felt compelled to take him with her. Even before he said _we_.

"It sounds like you'll be joining us, then? I suppose it would be easier to survive with all of us together."

"You know, I was ready to go this alone. But maybe sticking with the herd isn't such a bad idea. And _you_ seem like a useful person to know."

Ferelith noticed his eyes shifting over her, unapologetic and judgmental. She was a useful person, perhaps. But capable was something she teetered on the brink of. Nothing about her appearance told him she was useful at all. She was still in the casual clothing she wore around the shop back home. Her bag was slung around her shoulder, a bit singed on the side. The only weapon she had was the knife at her side. A few trinkets she found on the ship had looked something like bombs, but she wasn’t sure. And if he was able to tell she was a spell caster at first glance, he was either smarter than she thought or very good guesser.

In truth, what Astarion had noticed was someone capable after all. A proud woman. A woman who seemed to stay in control. Someone who could get him out of the mess he was in. At least for the time being, anyway.

"All right, I accept," he said with a bow. "Lead on."

The narrowed eyes of the warlock lifted with a smirk. “I’m not going to hear the sound of that dagger behind my back again, am I?”

“Not unless you ask nicely,” he grinned.

Ferelith closed her eyes, letting go another exhale of breath. She could tell how the rest of her day was going to pan out. Her hands relaxed to her side and with a slow pivot, she made her way back up the bank. Astarion was behind her, admiring in a curious way but careful not to let his gaze linger for too long. When they reached the top, Shadowheart was awaiting their return.

“Well?” she tapped her foot impatiently.

“It was just a stupid boar,” Ferelith shrugged.

“Great... a waste of time, then. Let’s go.”

“I think we can agree on that,” Ferelith eyed Astarion.

“Yes well,” he ran a hand through his hair. “I have been a bit out of sorts since the crash.”

“You’re coming with us?” Shadowheart didn’t seem pleased, but not entirely annoyed as she had been. “Fine. It’ll better our chances. Come on. We’ll have to go through the wreckage to get around.”

“Charming,” Astarion grumbled, looking to Ferelith who simply shrugged.

She trailed after the cleric. And Astarion followed. Though Ferelith was not so eager to go back into the ship, she knew it was the only way. At least this time, there were more hands to guide her.


	3. A Night With the Magistrate

“A temple?” Shadowheart glowered behind her. “Are you sure?”

Ferelith climbed up the debris, her hands rough and hot from touching the hot fleshy walls. She brushed off the soot and looked down at the rubble below. Flames were still rolling, sending ash and smoke through the sky, now growing darker. They would have to find somewhere to camp soon. Which shouldn’t be to difficult considering there was fresh water nearby. Now that they had crossed the remains of the crash, it would be easier to find spot.

“I’m entirely sure,” she finally answered between thoughts, waiting for them to follow her up the path. “The architecture resembled something of the sort. I can’t imagine what other structure would be placed in the middle of nowhere. It’s not like it’s a bakery.”

“The luck we would have if it was,” Astarion sighed.

“Then there must be something in there that could help. Perhaps even shelter.”

Ferelith was partial to the idea. If they made it in time. “Let’s focus on what we can, first. It doesn’t look like we’ll have much-”

Her words drifted off as she stopped on the trail. There was a slight buzzing sound, like energy activating at a source. She turned, watching something flicker across a marking on the stone wall.

“What is it?” Shadowheart inquired as she grew closer.

“That glyph,” Ferelith cocked her head to the side to study it. “Sounds like someone’s using it.”

With a loud crack, a large hole twisting with energy opened against the stone. A wayward glyph, one that could be used to travel quickly. She was familiar with such means for transportation. Shadowheart jumped back, her mace already in hand. Ferelith lifted an arm out, holding her back in case whatever came through was not hostile. Though with the luck they had that day, the likelihood of something else trying to kill her was very high. It was a bit of a relief to find a man walking through to the other side, stepping lightly into the brush next to the path. He took one disbelieving look at Ferelith and gave a warm smile.

“You’re alive,” he said as the light flashed again, dismissing the portal. “That’s unexpected.”

“I’m sorry?” Ferelith approached, inquisitive to the nature of their newly appeared friend.

“Last I saw you, you were lying in a crucible’s worth of blood, an intellect devour nibbling at your ear. Glad to see my eyes deceive me.”

Ferelith shuttered at the thought of one of those walking brains near her head, but was somewhat relaxed by his friendly tone.

“I’m Gale,” he nodded. “Well met.”

“Ferelith,” she continued to watch him carefully, observing his stance. “Well met.”

There was a time in her life she had been surrounded by magic users of excellent caliber. And she had grown used to a certain aura they emitted. It was a mix between arcane energy and arrogance, always aggravating her as it made her feel less superior. Wizards were always assuming their magic was the only the kind that mattered. She was never fond of them. But she always knew one when she saw one. And Gale held his confidence at a level where she could not mistake him as anything but. His robes were even loud.

“You were on the ship, I presume?” she shifted.

“The very same,” he replied. “A traumatizing experience, if an instructive one.”

“An interesting way to put it,” Ferelith couldn’t help but chuckle. “By trauma I’m assuming you mean the worm that was forced into my eye?”

“Yes,” he pointed at her. “The ocular penetration by an illithid tadpole which will-”

There it was. The all knowing ramblings of a man who liked to overshare his intelligence. Typical and common in nearly every wizard she had met. Though, she could think of a few who were humble enough. Mostly those in the abjuration school. They were never that much fun, though. No, Ferelith was more attentive to listen to the words of the necromancers and their theories of the dead. Now _they_ had some interesting thoughts.

“You’re staring at me like a Rashemi at a blackboard,” he said when he realized she was hardly listening. “You’re no wizard, are you?”

“No,” she crossed her arms. “I’m a warlock.”

“There’s a gust of Weave about you, but it’s a mere breeze.” he squinted at her. “I need a tempest. It’ll have to wait. The primary need is a healer. I take it you recall the insertion of the parasite?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Quite vividly.”

“Are you aware that after a period of excruciating gestation, it will turn us into mind flayers? A process known as ceremorphosis?”

“I am aware of that, yes,” she noted the intensity in his voice.

“It is to be avoided,” he said firmly, his eyes shifted from her to the other companions. “I assume you’re no accomplished healer, either? A powerful cleric maybe?”

“It seems you’re out of luck. We’re all in the same predicament as yourself.”

“Well, we’re all in a whole lot of trouble. We need help and I’m not sure where we’ll find any in this wilderness. How about we embark on the quest for a healer together?”

“We have been looking for others,” she glanced back to her other companions. “So I imagine that’s just the plan we had envisioned.”

“Most excellent!” he proclaimed, a bit more excited than she had anticipated. “Then without further ado, let’s be off. Besides, it looks like you keep some interesting company.”

His gaze fell back onto Shadowheart, biting the corner of her lip with a menacing glare.

“A woman with shadows for eyes- deep as the Darklake. A pleasure, madam.”

“Is it, indeed?” she tilted her head with a mocking tone. “We’ll see.”

Astarion snicked, remaining hidden behind the two women. Ferelith looked back to cast a look of disappointment, but it hardly phased him. She turned back to Gale, the wizard with the optimistic grin. He would be useful. And if anything other than, he would at least bring some positive musings to their solemn thoughts. Even if those musings were just the truth spoken in a happy manner.

“We were just headed up the hill to the ruins,” she motioned. “We were looking to see if perhaps there were supplies we could scavenge.”

“The ruins?” he looked in the direction she was pointing. “The old temple, yes.”

Ferelith took another look behind as if her eyes would tell the others that she had been right on her earlier assumption.

“I took a peak during my rounds. Looks like the place is covered with bandits.”

“Which means there’s supplies,” Shadowheart stepped closer.

Ferelith turned to her at her left shoulder. “We’ll have to prepare for a fight.”

“Prepare for a fight? You’re going to raid the bandit camp?” Gale looked at them with surprise.

“It’s them or us,” Shadowheart shrugged.

“We can _try_ to ask nicely, I suppose,” Ferelith smirked. “But something tells me they won’t be willing to share.”

“This is going to interesting,” Astarion smirked, his enthusiasm rising in the two women whom he it seems he had not judged fairly.

“Let’s just assess the situation when we get there,” Gale raised his hands, clearly not anticipating a battle ready party so soon.

“He’s right,” Ferelith came to reason. “We should make camp, first. Somewhere close to the water? I’d like to wash this soot from my face.”

“We should head back, then,” Shadowheart agreed.

“Yes, I think I saw a nice bank to camp on from the cliff side. Shall we?”

* * *

With the sun setting and weary bodies, the party had agreed to settle on a flat surface near the river. There was enough sand to make the ground soft. And enough dead wood to create a fire. Gale was gracious enough to provide flames while everyone helped collect wood. There was little they had salvaged from the wreckage, but Ferelith and Shadowheart managed to pull together a few bedrolls from the fishermen they had looted earlier that day. They all pooled their findings together to create a meal of bread, cheese, and two apples. Ferelith was even pleased to find she had a few leaves left in her apron to make tea. If only she had a kettle. Feeling around her waste for her belt, she found the component bag which had remained empty. She placed the leaves inside, deciding there would be another time she would need it.

"So," a voice approaching from behind. "We're resting here? Turning in for the night?"

She stood up to face Astarion who seemed a bit uncomfortable if not distraught. He not only seemed worried, but he was shifting as he stood in front of her. As if he were too embarrassed to say what was honestly on his mind.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, trying to catch his veering glances.

“No, not at all,” he smiled, appearing grateful, but unconvincing.

“It’s nothing what you’re used to in Baldur’s Gate, I’m sure. But it’s a lovely spot.”

Ferelith looked about. It had been a long time since she camped in the wilderness. Truth be told, she would consider it one of the best campsites she had rested in. There may not have been beds or tents, but the sound of the river nearby was calming. There was a waterfall close. A ruin to other side. And a group of rocks and logs to provide seating and shelter.

"I suppose," he said politely, noticing her admiring looks around the scenery. "I'm not sure what I expected, really. This is all a little new."

She couldn't help but feel some satisfaction from his suffering. A noble forced to sleep on the ground. It was nice to have some sort of entertainment for the evening. Still, he appeared not to be completely broken about it. She imagined if he was truly upset about the matter, he would be demanding more bedrolls. And for that, she was somewhat impressed by his humility.

"You mentioned you were from the city as well,” he went on. “The night for us normally means bustling streets... bursting taverns..."

His eyes narrowed a bit, searching her face for a sudden realization. But... there was none. Ferelith had not recalled their run in whatsoever. The illithid must have cleared the memory of his face when he mind controlled her. It made having to explain himself nonexistent. And it made smoothing her over all the more obtainable.

"Curling up in the dirt and resting is... a little novel," he went on with a sigh.

"You're being terribly polite for not having much a choice," she crossed her arms.

Again, he saw the hint of tease in her nature. She was going to be fun. A challenge... but fun... He smiled.

"You expected me to be rude?" he questioned, impersonating someone who was hurt. "No, I won't complain. Not while everything remains unsettled."

"Agreed. Not that I want to hear your complaints. But we should get some rest so we can catch up on that unsettled business in the morning."

"I'm in no place to rest yet," he raised his brow. "Today has been... a lot. I need some time to think things through. To process this. You rest. I'll keep watch."

There was something ominous about the idea of resting in the midst of three complete strangers. Her perception had not failed her yet, but it seemed odd to put her life in the hands of someone who had tried to stab her just hours before.

“I’m afraid I won’t be needing much rest,” she stated. “Besides, I’m not so eager to completely trust any of you just yet.”

There was a pause as the two elves stared at one another, as if two predators had spotted each other from across an empty field. It created a tension that could crack the moment it was disturbed. Or could wither away with a simple word. Astarion plotted his next statement carefully, as he knew if he went about it the wrong way, she would never learn to trust him at all.

"You know,” he leaned forward, “if you wanted to spend time with me, you only have to say so."

The drop in his tone during the last few words caused Ferelith's expression to drop. In most occasions, she did very well to conceal her emotions. But the audacity of this man was enough to change that. The familiar flutter in her chest had returned. And she was not so willing to bury it this time. Her jaw had nearly dropped open, but the long pause gave her away.

"But suit yourself," Astarion said smugly. "I'm sure we'll drift off at some point."

"Yes, well," she closed her mouth and shook her head, looking down into her book. "I've got work to do... with this..."

"Good evening, then," he gave a slight nod before he sauntered back across the fire.

* * *

As she rummaged through notes she had written that day and the small black leather book she clung to tightly, she couldn't help but feel she was circling back to an unanswered question. There was still no word from her patron. She was lucky she could even still feel him. And as the night grew quieter, she could hear the feint whispers in the back of her head. They were only causing more distractions. As if the occasional on looking eyes were not enough. Looking up from her book, she glanced to Astarion, picking grass and throwing it to the fire. They really were the only ones awake. Then again, they were the only ones who did not need to sleep.

"Is there something you need?" he asked, catching her staring.

"No," she replied, looking back down to her book.

“You look like you need a break,” he suggested, crossing his legs.

Ferelith sat up, stretching her lower back as she pushed her chest out. “What is it they say? No rest for the wicked?”

Astarion chuckled, pulling another blade of grass from the ground and spinning it between his fingers. There was more to the woman in front of him. From what he had gathered, she had already given more than what she was willing to share. A warlock from Baldur’s Gate with a bag full of books and smirk full of secrets. He may have found decent company in the most unexpected of places.

“If that’s the case, you and I have a long night ahead of us.”

“Long nights never bothered me,” she placed her hands on her lap. “What about you? What were your long nights like back in Baldur’s Gate? Other than those _bu_ _rsting_ taverns.”

He felt a tightening in his chest at there may have been a hint of recognition. “There were nights spent outside of taverns.”

“I see,” she nodded at his quick dismissal. “Likely filled with entertainers and wine, then.”

“Not always,” he shrugged, picking the grass apart just as he did the one before. “Some nights were spent studying. Much like yourself.”

“A scholar,” she shook her head in jest.

“A magistrate,” he corrected. “It was all rather tedious.”

“Oh,” she brought a hand to her chest. “Excuse me, then. I must apologize. I didn’t realize I was in the company of someone so _formal_.”

Astarion sneered from across the fire, remembering that she had been in the upper district when they crossed paths. “You know,” he inhaled, holding his breath for a moment while he contemplated her remark. “Something tells me you’re not so humble, yourself.”

“I’m quite proud of my work,” she blinked. “And I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“You carry yourself with a strange sense of power,” he glared at her now, as if he were searching beyond what her face would show. “Something greater than pride. You wouldn’t happen to be familiar with the nobility of Baldur’s Gate, would you?”

Her heart sunk as her mind began to search her memories for his face. There were none. She was certain she had never met this man before. But his in-sinuous tone told her otherwise. If he was asking, it only meant he was unsure of himself. And if she gave him the answer he desired, it would mean she was admitting to something she was not certain she was guilty of. Whatever the case, she remained firm in her decision to remain as unapproachable as possible.

“I can’t say that I am,” she lied.

“That’s disappointing,” he threw the rest of what was left in his hand into the flames. “You seem like someone I would have acquainted myself with.”

A commendation cloaking the questions of an obvious interrogator. She knew the tactic and dismissed it, taking it only as a backhanded compliment. Turning her attention back to work to ignore his presence, she began to scratch more useless notes across the paper. Anything to keep her from talking to him further. Her heart began to pound against her chest. And again, she tried to recall the memories of Baldur’s Gate. Even as far back as her time in Neverwinter. But not a thought was found for a handsome white haired magistrate. She was sure she would have noticed.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said softly when she had been quiet for a few minutes. “These are strange times and I find myself in need of… a _friend._ ”

Ferelith couldn’t help but feel he was looking in the wrong the direction. Still, she looked up with interest to find he had rose to his feet, towering over the flames and looking down at her.

“Those are not so easily acquired,” she retorted.

“Weeeell,” there was a shift in his brow, “if you ever warm up to the idea, I’ll be here. For now, I think I’ll take my leave to admire the night. I’m growing ever more anxious for the sun to rise.”

Ferelith said not a word as he strode off toward the ruin. She watched as he hesitated crossing the log, but found his footing to be rather graceful as he strut across it. He was being very careful. Not just about the river, but about how he was speaking to her. There were too many blank spaces that she could fill detailing what he could be hiding from her. That, of course, was also due to her the charade of what she was keeping to herself. And with that distracting her from any more work, she shut her book with the conclusion that she needed rest more than she needed answers. She was anxious now, as well.


	4. The Shadow of Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So quick note about Ferelith. She is a very prideful person. Even what some might call a know-it-all. Very eloquent and charismatic, even when she shouldn't be. Of course, it does sometimes lean in her favor. There is also a very temperamental side to Ferelith. A stubborn and dangerous one. She is selfish. Very selfish. And greedy. She will be angry until she has her way. Also, I am notorious for writing long fight scenes. So I shortened this one up so it didn’t up with another 10k words. This is mostly game retell with Ferelith’s personal feelings. And a few little fun quips in dialogue. Not my favorite chapter or my best writing.

One day. It had only been one sodding day. Ferelith lay on her back blinking into the purple sky as the sun rose over the horizon. She lay listening to the river, the birds, the trees swaying in the wind, the sound of shifting bodies as the others began to wake. Astarion- who had been awake with her for several hours now- remained incredibly quiet the rest of the night, much to her surprise. But he had learned quickly that Ferelith, although approachable, was not so easy to converse with. Especially after ending their last conversation as awkward as they had. She wasn’t sure how long he had been gone when he did leave the camp. She didn’t care, but she wondered if he had taken his rest at some point. After all, they would need their strength to make it through the day. She rose to her feet, stretching her arms high above her head before heading toward the water to freshen her face. It was cold, but at least it was clean. She dipped her hands into it, splashing it up onto her cheeks when the sound of footsteps over rocks were heard behind her.

“What were you two talking about?” Shadowheart asked, kneeling down to feel the water for herself.

“Who?” Ferelith asked, running her hands around her neck.

“You and our rogue companion,” she barely looked up. “I heard you two chatting last night.”

“Nothing,” she shook her head. “Just about the camp.”

“I see,” she stated, but it felt as if she were looking for something specific. “I would be careful with who you confide in.”

Ferelith flung the remaining water from her hands. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about when it comes to who I confide in.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s a _very_ short list,” she grinned.

“Good,” she said while rising onto her feet. “Let’s just hope we rapidly find a healer.”

“Once we’ve reached the temple, we could get on higher ground. Take a look at what we should expect from the wilderness and if there’s a village nearby.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” she crossed her arms.

“It also would be wise,” another voice approached from the fire, now smoking as it had been doused, “to check the wreckage for any more supplies. We’ve about gone through any rations we’ve found. Unless anyone has a knack for hunting.”

The two woman looked to Gale first, then to each other, frowning with disappointment. All three of them looked in unison at the rogue waiting by the fire, kicking dirt as he was already impatient. He had a set of knives on his persons, but no bow. Ferelith recalled the fishermen she found at the docks. There were poles there they could use to fish, if need be. She was certain their supplies had already been ransacked. Not only by herself, but possibly by the bandits Gale had mentioned before.

“Say, Astarion,” Gale piped up as he made his way back to fire pit. “You wouldn’t happen to have any experience with hunting would you?”

Astarion’s face dropped, his eyes scanning over his comrades. “Why?”

“We’re a bit short on food. Not a lot of options to choose from here, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh,” he straightened himself. “Well yes, of course. I have been known to hunt. For sport.”

“Were you any good at it?” Shadowheart muttered under her breath.

“I don’t think it matters if I’m the only shot we have at killing something for food,” he sneered at her. “But if you must know, _yes_. I am quite good at it.”

“Then we just need to find a bow,” Ferelith concluded, crossing her arms. “And we could always grab the fishing poles from the docks when we go to search for more supplies. Let’s gather our things, then. The earlier we get started, the better.”

* * *

The party of four stood at the top of the hill looking down into the wreckage of the nautiloid. Most of the fires were out, but the coals were still hot and spitting smoke into the air. Ferelith scanned the area below, seeing broken chairs, burned steps, and a few carcasses, but nothing useful. There was a large doubt that there would be nothing worth using beneath the ash, but they would have to cross the debris, regardless. They descended into the mass of it, listening to the framework creak above them when the wind blew. It seemed just as empty and eerie as before.

“I don’t even know what to look for,” Ferelith said, kicking over burnt rubble on the ground.

“What’s that?” Gale said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder to alert her.

Ferelith looked up, and the other two had his attention as well. They stood quietly looking further back into the destruction of the ship. Ahead, there were three villagers digging at what seemed like a large heap that had fallen from the ship. They were covered in soot and ash like they had been sorting through it for awhile. One of them was yelling, commanding the others, frantically flailing his arms as he did. The elves squinted to focus, using their better sight to get a closer look.

“Is that-?” Astarion lowered his brow.

“Shit,” Ferelith pushed past Gale, marching toward the group of villagers.

“Somethings wrong,” Shadowheart said, realizing now what they saw by the flash of it’s gray skin. “They should be trying to get away if they had any sense.”

“Ferelith,” the wizard called after her. “Ferelith, we should be careful.”

She didn’t care. The rage inside her had already swarmed. Astarion was at her heels, Shadowheart close behind. Gale trailed them, treading carefully and observing more from a distance. As Ferelith got closer, the human man was sent into a full panic. There was a large cut on his hand from where he had carelessly moved the debris. He looked up to address them as the approached, but the others continued to dig. They scratched and clawed at the heap in front of them, as if their own lives were at stake. Beneath a very large piece of the ship was a mind flayer. Too weak to move. But not too weak to control them.

“Stop it,” Ferelith reached out to touch the back of a dwarf.

“My daughter!” the human man shouted at her, causing her to step back. “She’s under there. Please!”

“That’s _not_ your daughter,” she snapped, wrinkles forming at her nose as she growled at him. “Step aside.”

“You… monster…” the look of pure horror on his face only made her fury worse.

She looked down, the creature- the mind flayer- its hold on them was too strong. It’s yellow eyes watched Ferelith, observing what she would do as if it were a test to her own nature. Something triggered a memory from the dark streets back in Baldur’s Gate. A hand outstretched, waving as this one did now. It created a cold feeling like ice covered fingers piercing her skull. And those yellow eyes were just the same as before, menacing and fierce. It reminded her of the screams from her patron inside. That he somehow had been affected. She tightened her fists. It was the very same being that had taken her.

“You’ll die for this,” she said lowly and she knew it understood.

“She’s already dying!” the man yelled and as he did, the other two fishermen began to rise to their feet. “You… you did this. You want to kill her!”

The three of them drew their weapons. But the commoners stood no chance. A blast of energy fired from the palm of Ferelith’s already charged hands into the man’s chin, sending him backwards across the wreckage. Shadowheart swung her mace, striking down a halfling who was ready to attack, but unable to defend. And Astarion had cut his blades across the dwarf, who gurgled helplessly to the floor. Gale crossed his arms with a disappointing sigh.

“I feel like this could have gone better,” he said solemnly shaking his head.

Ferelith stepped over the mound with the mind flayer beneath, her hand out and filled with more energy for another blast. However, a convulsion inside her caused her stop. Her hand came to her chest, and she slowly turned. The mind flayer was now curling it’s fingers towards her. She could feel her mind bending, twisting, melding with those who attacked her. She felt a moment of fear, just as they did. It wanted to use that fear to force her to attack her comrades. Except, this time was nothing like the attack in the alleyway. She was better prepared. Stronger. Determined. Her mind was a fortress and she pushed back the fear with all the anger inside her.

“There is no place for you here, you _wretch_.”

The tone she used caused Shadowheart to look at the others. Her voice held all the ferocity of something fowl. It came from a place they did understand. And how could they? Ferelith’s mind was home to something dark. And it was now empty, leaving a vacant space that this thing was trying to fill. This space was something she made specifically for someone else. Someone sacred. To try and take it left her violated.

Whatever it was Ferelith had done, it caused the mind flayer to shrink in it’s already shriveled state. Forgetting about the human behind her, she stepped onto the piece of the platform crushing the creature. The bond was severed and she could feel the others awakening. The dwarf was gone, but the other two were still with beating hearts. There was rustling behind her, causing her to turn with a readied spell.

“Wait!” the human sat up, his hand held out with a plea of mercy. “… where are we?”

She lowered her spell, but her guard was still firm. “You’re in the middle of a crashed ship.”

“Ship? I don’t… There was fire in the sky… and then…” he looked around, seeing the blood on the ground. “Oh Gods… Sonna… what happened to my friends?”

“This,” she pointed down below her feet. “You were protecting this.”

“Gods… I think you’re right,” he looked down at his own hands. “It called out from the wreckage. Sounded just like my daughter. But… she’s been dead for years. That thing got into our heads… drove us mad. We wrecked our boat just trying to get close to it. What do we do now?”

Gale watched as her shoulders hunched forward, her chin leaning out in a way the reminded him of a curious predator. There was a hint of something else when he watched her, like a brief flicker of a shadow, something like wavering smoke through a reflection of glass. Her anger had not subsided. And she was feeding off of it with every second.

“You?” she asked, her tone dropping and her voice quiet. “We don’t even know where _we_ are. If it wasn’t for this abomination, we wouldn’t even _be_ here.”

“You were in this thing?” his eyes widened. “To survive that only to land in this bloody wilderness. We’re in the middle of nowhere. The gods must have it out.”

Something shifted in Ferelith’s mind. The bond between them was not entirely broken. The man had felt it too. She spotted the realization the moment his face twisted. The fear had returned, but only by his own control.

“Wait… you… I can feel you,” he started to step backward. “Just like one of those things. You’re one of them!”

“What?” the growl in her voice returned. “I tried to save you. You attacked _me_.”

“There’s something in your head,” he shook his slowly. “Please… we’ll take our chances out here. Just… leave us be.”

The man went to leave, but she stopped him, stepping forward as her yellow eyes pierced his gaze. He flinched, catching his footing off balance. Ferelith took advantage and stepped over him as he crouched, cowering beneath her.

“The bow,” she said, holding our her hand.

“What?” he stammered, terrified to look up at her.

“Give me the bow. Take your friend. And run.”

The human looked at the weapon clutched tightly in his hand then back to Ferelith. He cast it down, scrambling to the halfling’s side as he struggled to throw her over his shoulder. The group of them watched him half carry, half drag her out, stopping only once he was a good hundred feet away to completely lift her into his arms. Ferelith bent over, snatching the bow from the ground, and tossed it to Astarion.

“Simpletons,” he said catching it effortlessly in one hand. “The beast is half dead and they still bowed to its whims.”

Ferelith said not a word as she looked over to the dwarf’s body. A crossbow lay at his un-moving fingertips. She reached down, taking it from his dead hands and began to storm back toward the squirming mind flayer. She rounded the rubble, standing directly in front of it. She wanted to see the fear in it’s eyes. And for a moment… she did. Then, she felt the swirling wield of pity. This helpless thing was reaching out for her, pleading with the entirety of it’s thoughts. She felt compelled to come to its aid with a sudden surge of compassion.

That surge was quickly squashed as a dark shadow swarmed her mind again. It clouded her thoughts. It struck down any empathy she might have felt. And replaced it with hate. The shadow rippled, revealing another grasp of icy fingers, bending her will to bring her to her knees with guilt. Ferelith fought it. She refused to give in to the mind meld, refused to be its thrall. The harder she fought, the weaker it became. Until eventually it’s clutch loosened and she felt it slip away. It’s eyes flashed once more, an indication that if this creature could display any emotions, it would be that of bitter resentment. Her hand grasped the base of the crossbow.

“Have you used one of those before?” Shadowheart asked.

Ferelith ignored her.

“Are you sure you-” Astarion began.

The bolt released with a pull of the trigger. It violently split the mind flayer’s face in two, digging into the ground and splattering blood up Ferelith’s body. The sound of impact made the others jump, not expecting such a loud and hasty action from her petite hands. She pressed her foot down on the remainder of its skull, pulling her arrow up from the dirt and reloading the chamber. She turned to her companions, filled with awe and struck cold during her display of rage.

“You’ve… got…” Gale pointed to his face.

Ferelith lifted the back of her hand, wiping the blood on her face. Some of it came off on her glove, but most just smeared across her cheek. She looked down at the back of her hand, examining the dark blood. It brought her thoughts to the tadpole. About how it had twisted in her head the more the mind flayer pulled. It was able to connect to the creature while her mind remained free. Perhaps that was the reason why she- why they were alive. The worm may not have had the ability to connect to their minds because there was already something there, something already bound to that space. The only reasoning Ferelith would have was her patron. As for the others, she didn’t know enough to create a strong theory. It all seemed too far fetched and coincidental.

“Let’s go,” she said, walking back over to the dwarf to rip off the holster.

His body made a loud thud, causing Gale to grimace and Astarion to chuckle as they followed behind her. The three trailing behind her remained silent. And a good distance away. None of them were brave enough to address the temper they had witnessed. Or that it was completely uncalled for. Astarion, specifically, seemed restless. Although he was the furthest behind, his eyes kept wandering to the back of her head. If he could just have _one more peek_ into her memories of the night she was taken, he could have a bit more insight on what to expect. It wouldn’t put him at any sort of ease, but it would at least prepare him for… whatever it was that he just saw.

“Ferelith,” Gale said, trotting behind her when he had held his silence for too long. “I feel like we should talk about-”

“No.”

“You don’t think we should discuss what just happened?”

“Not at all.”

“Really? Because I think you just-”

“Gale,” she turned to face him, her face finally softened. “I don’t believe now is the time. If there’s something that needs to be discussed, can we wait until we camp?”

“Of course,” he nodded, but his eyes were still filled with concern. “I just need to know if you’re alright.”

Ferelith lowered her brow in confusion, her eyes shooting down with the understanding that this was the first time her comrades had witnessed her true nature. They had seen the shadow. Which only meant that if they could see it, must have meant her patron had returned. The voice still had not made itself known, however. And his presence was just a faint blip in the corner of her head. But something had drawn him out. The same thing that had drawn him to her. The rage. How typical.

“I’m fine,” she smiled at the thought. “Honestly, I’m sorry. I must have gotten carried away.”

Her eyes looked back over the others looking for the reactions but found they were all generally uninterested. It was quite the relief and surprise, as most who caught the first glimpse of her in that state would question her stability. It seemed her silence of the matter was welcomed.

“It’s quite alright,” Shadowheart shrugged. “If you weren’t going to do it, I was. I’m just glad you were capable.”

“And you’ve managed to secure not one, but two long ranged weapons,” Astarion pointed out from the back. “With an impressive display of intimidation.”

“Yes,” Gale tilted his shoulder upward. “That was quite the show. A lot of pent up anger, I’d say.”

“Well, it didn’t take much,” her eyes shifted. “It could be from a lack of food this morning. I’d like to get to that temple and see what sort of luxurious these bandits have been living in.”

“Do you think they’ll have wine?” the wizard jested beside her.

“Gods, I hope so.”

* * *

Ferelith, Shadowheart, and Gale sat against a large boulder, their backs pressed firmly against it. They glanced at one another, unable to speak lest they alarm their targets. Words were shared between facial expressions, however, and if there was anything they currently agreed upon, it was that they were tired of waiting. They had wasted enough time back at the wreckage and they wanted to at least scout the temple before nightfall. Astarion was not hastening their progress, however. And the moment he reappeared to bring them news, they all looked at him in frustration.

“Well?” Shadowheart lowered her brow.

“Two tieflings have someone captured,” he said, glancing over the rock in their direction.

“Do they look like bandits?” Ferelith questioned.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” her brow lowered as well.

Astarion turned his head to the two scowling women. “They looked like tieflings.”

Ferelith rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. “For complete wilderness we seem to be running into a lot of people.”

“The crash must have brought them all out,” Gale suggested.

“We can either go on, see what they’re about, or go back and around. Maybe there’s another way?” she looked to the cleric.

“Not a chance. We’ll push through here.”

“I agree,” Gale nodded. “Let’s go.”

The four of them lifted onto their feet, pacing around the rock and onto the trail in front of the clearing. It was a small ravine covered in rocks, a natural bridge hanging above them. Wrapped around it was a solid rope with a cage dangling from it, a clever and sturdy trap if they had ever seen one. Contained within it was a woman with yellowish green skin, adorned in gleaming silver armor and brandishing a frown of disgust. Her arms were crossed as she awaited her fate. And as Ferelith looked upon her, she recognized the woman as the very same from the ship.

“The thing’s dangerous,” one of the tieflings pleaded. “Leave it for the goblins to kill.”

“And if it escapes?” the other argued. “How will you- oh! We gave guests, it seems.”

“We’re just passing-” Gale began to speak to them as they grew near, but Ferelith became distracted by the pounding cold wave in her head.

She looked up, meeting the gaze of the gith in the cage. Her stare was focused as if she were sending shards of thoughts straight into her brain.

“ _You again... Get rid of them.”_

Ferelith gave a slight wink to her the gith woman without realizing she had no inclination of what the gesture meant. She turned back to the tieflings, indulging in the conversation they were having with Gale. He began to describe their journey from the ship and how they had been stranded in the wild. They began to mention an encampment, somewhere there would be more supplies. But the woman was growing impatient. And Ferelith could feel her poking to get back into her head.

“Is this one of the gith that was attacking the ship?” Ferelith inquired, glancing back up to her former companion.

“We’re… we’re not sure,” they glanced at one another. “We were sent out to investigate that blast. And we found her here.”

“There might be more of them. And I’ve seen what they can do,” her fingers began to twitch as she began to consider a spell, but dropped them when it was not needed. “They’re fierce fighters. What do you intend to do with her?”

“We can’t seem to agree on that,” the male said, his eyes glancing up to his current problem.

“You could leave it to us,” Ferelith motioned to their party. “I believe we could handle her. We’ve fought through the ship to survive, after all.”

The woman rolled her eyes from above. Ferelith could still feel her intense stare, growing with intensity the longer the conversation went on.

“Are you sure?”the male tiefling lowered his brow.

“No,” Ferelith shook her head with a slight chuckle. “But I’m afraid we stand a better chance than two of you.”

The tieflings had a moment of hesitation, looking at one another. There was a sigh as there clearly was no correct course of action. Either the gith had to die or they had to leave it. Something about leaving the matter in strange hands was far more appealing than making the decision themselves.

“She’s right,” he finally said with a nod to his companion. “Let’s go.”

“Be careful out here. There’s goblin traps _everywhere_ ,” the tiefling woman said. “Perhaps we’ll see you back at camp.”

As they walked away, they both gave one final glance over their shoulder. Like two very suspicious individuals, Gale and Ferelith waved until they disappeared beyond the other side of the ravine.

“Is there a reason we’re dismissing the tieflings to deal with a githyanki?” Gale asked, leaning toward her as soon as they were out of ear shot.

“She helped me on the ship,” Ferelith replied quietly. “We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“What do you mean?” he looked at her curiously.

“We fought on the bridge together.”

“You were the one that sent us through the portal?”

“Yes. I. Am,” she nodded proudly.

“Impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s get her down then,” he stated nonchalantly.

They made their way over to the cage, looking up. Though the engineering put into the contraption was impressive, the make of it was still rather crude. It would be easy to take it down.

“Enough gawking,” she narrowed her eyes. “Get me down.”

“Say _please_ ,” Ferelith grinned.

The gith stepped away from the bars that surrounded her, crossing her arms with a spiteful gaze. “Never.”

Ferelith turned to the other members of her party, two of them humored by her sarcasm while Gale stared like a chiding parent. The warlock shrugged, taking the crossbow from her holster and carelessly aiming it upward. With barely a glance, she fired the bolt and down came the bottom of the trap. The gith woman tumbled out, catching herself on one knee as she slammed onto the earth.

“The tadpole hasn’t yet scrambled your senses,” she grumbled, rising to her feet. “Auspicious. But the longer we wait, the more it consumes. My people posses the cure for this infection. I must find a creche. You will join me.”

“Lies,” Shadowheart spat, coming forward without waiting for a response from anyone else. “Just get rid of her.”

“Hold on,” Ferelith held out her hand. “I didn’t kill Astarion when he tried to stab me, so I’m certainly not killing anyone for simply just existing.”

“He what?” Gale turned to glare at the rogue.

“Let’s not dwell on the past,” he said quietly while quickly shaking his head with a robust frown.

“I think we should consider this as an option,” she continued over their squabble. “What little options we have. Lae’zel, what is a creche?”

“It is many things: a hatchery, a training ground, a shelter. Githyanki protocol is clear: when infected with ghaik tadpole, we must report to a caretaker for purification.”

“I don’t trust her,” Shadowheart stated. “We’ve already got information on the camp the tieflings mentioned.”

“This camp,” the gith straightened herself. “That is where this _Zorru_ is. He has seen my kin. We will go.”

“Then we can all go together.” Ferelith interrupted.

“A questioning compromise, but I accept,” she pressed her shoulders back with an observing eye. “You have made an ally from Creche K’lir. Few know such fortune. Call me Lae’zel.”

“Fool,” Shadowheart interrupted before Ferelith could speak. “No point in showing a mad dog kindness – it’ll still bite you in the end.”

“You’ve a sharp tongue, elf. Would that your mind prove its equal.”

“ _Half_ elf. I suppose the finer details are lost on a creature like you.”

“Right,” Ferelith sighed, her eyes gliding across the ground wondering what exactly she had done to deserve the cruel fate she was handed. “Now that we’re all acquainted… I believe now would be a great time to re-establish a better plan of action.”

“We’ll be here all night,” Gale mumbled to her, leaning forward in an attempt to intervene.

“Then perhaps… we should just head back to camp. And we can find supplies… and that wine… in the morning.”


	5. A Quick Laugh at Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took so long. I had a busy week last week and was gone all weekend. I got really tired of trying to right this chapter so I am sorry if it seems rushed and choppy. I mainly just wanted the quirky bits. And I have so many things already pre-written I'd like to get to. Including the temple. And then tying in the bite scene later on.

Ferelith looked down into the reflection of the water, examining the dried blood on the side of her face. A small shard of anger slithered into her thoughts when she thought about the creature from the crash. The worm was trying to fight it, but the twirling shadow had clouded it’s thoughts. Her patron was still there, protecting her the best he could. But he would not speak. Ferelith looked up to the moon and saw it was still a few days away before she could perform the ritual to speak with him. Though there was always the option to try. She sighed, setting her gloves to the side to wipe them off later and she dipped her hands into the water. As she began to wipe off her face, Gale had approached her.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like a word once we’ve settled in for the night,” he said.

“If this is about what happened earlier,” she rose to her feet, “then I assure you I’m quite alright.”

“Actually, no,” he paused as he turned. “But I’m glad to see you’re feeling a bit more like yourself.”

A swift breeze pulled her hair into her face, but she was quick to tuck it behind her ear. Gale watched her eyes closely, but saw nothing peculiar within them. They were just as they always had been. Pale yellow with nothing of importance gleaming inside. No hint of anger or excitement. Just simply mindful and content. And the lingering dark essence he had sensed before disappeared. There was just Ferelith with her pale skin and dark hair holding her arms against her chest to brace herself against the cold wind of the river.

“You know,” she said, squeezing her arms. “I’ve met many wizards in my travels. Have you… met many warlocks?”

“A few,” he nodded.

“What were they like?”

Gale paused for a moment. A warlock was unlike a wizard in the sense of how they obtained their power. A wizard was impatient, in most cases. They desired power, but that wasn’t any different than any one else. What separated a warlock was the means in which they obtained that power and what sort of desire drove them. It varied upon the person. And when he looked at Ferelith, the quiet woman who cradled the apron with her books and her singed quill, he did not see a desire for power. He saw a woman with secrets. A woman blanketed by a protective shadow. He took a deep breath.

“Nothing like yourself,” he smiled at her in adoration.

Her eyes, once cold and gazing lost across the river came round to acknowledge the compliment of her companion. He caught the reflection of gratitude within them and knew her smile to be true.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” she looked back out to the water. “It even makes me sound a bit dangerous. But I’ll take the ambiguity as a compliment.”

“I simply don’t know enough about you to say otherwise,” he attempted to correct his statement.

“I appreciate your honesty,” she let a little sigh slip through, leading Gale to believe she was finished with his company. “For the record… you’re one of the kindest wizards I’ve ever met.”

“I do try… my lady.”

“Alright enough flattery,” she waved her hand slightly as he left her line of sight, her gaze still focused on the rolling stream in front of her. “I’ll see you later.”

His footsteps faded out, only to be replaced by another. Ferelith glanced up at the sky, realizing they had a few hours of daylight left before she could retire. There was still much to be done, but she had a sudden urge to be alone. Whoever it was behind her, they were in no rush. And she wondered how long she could stay silent before they urged her to speak.

“The breeze will just get colder as the sun goes down,” she said eyeing the colors shifting as the sun set. “It will draw me closer to the fire. Soon enough.”

“Take your time,” a male’s voice startled her.

Ferelith turned, seeing Astarion with his newly gifted bow strapped to his back, a few crude arrows in his hand.

“Oh, I though you were- well, it doesn’t matter…”

“I was just leaving,” he stated, glancing back to the rest of their party gathering around the pit as Gale prepared a fire.

“And you’re, what? Taking requests?” she smirked over her shoulder.

“I’m afraid the prime rib will be unavailable tonight,” he shifted his weight to his other foot. “But, in order to make up for it, I’ve offered a few bolts to your collection.”

Ferelith lowered her arms, granting him her full attention. “To my what?”

“The village coward dropped his quiver. There were a few arrows in there a bit too short to be considered an arrow. I tossed them onto you bedroll.”

“Oh… thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. At the quality they appear to be in, they could have just been poorly made arrows that couldn’t be used by a proper bow,” he cringed. “They might just snap straight in half.”

“Right,” she nodded, admitting that her thoughts were lost on him.

Astarion could see her drifting back out into the open evening, eyes faded into a distant plane. After what he had witnessed of her earlier that day, he had expected a change to her behavior at camp. The outburst to him meant a reveal of character. Not this reclusive woman who was lost in thought. While Ferelith had been a mostly quiet person from the beginning, there were still those snarky comments between he had rather enjoyed. This was simply just disappointing. She did not even bother to send him away as he turned to leave.

* * *

After an evening delegating a very passive aggressive discussion between Shadowheart and Lae’zel over what she would consider dinner, Ferelith was forced to resist the urge to turn in for the night. Her head had been pounding, likely a side affect of the illithid’s mental damage from before. Still, she had agreed to have a moment with Gale. And least with him, she knew half of what to expect. That included walking up to see him observing his own double.

“Be with you in a moment,” his voice echoed.

His attention never left the mirror image, his eyes focused upon his own face. Ferelith snorted a bit, rolling her eyes with a sigh as she glanced around for something else to keep her occupied. She allowed him a few more seconds before she grew impatient.

“Is there a reason you’re studying your own image?”

Gale turned, a smirk shot at her to acknowledge the teasing tone.

“Indulging in a spot of vanity. Handsome devil, aren’t I?” he spun around with a wave of his, causing the image to vanish. “Be that as it may.”

It slowly fizzled down to a few sparks. He folded his hands behind his back, very much in the estute sort of way she would have imagine. His brow lowered and she could feel the tone shifting to a more serious manner. Though, she felt she had enough of it that day.

“Ceremorphosis. What does it make you think of?”

“The tadpole,” she answered, knowing it was what he expected.

Still, he responded with utmost enthusiasm.

“Spot on,” he winked. “Day one: fever and memory loss. Day two: hallucinations and graying skin. Day three: hair loss and blood leaking from all orifices. Need I go on?”

“By all means,” she nodded.

“Day four: excruciating pain as the skeleton and organs reform and reposition. Day five: the host's personality has disappeared. Fingers, toes, and limbs elongate,” he became a bit aggravated as a small chuckle fell from her lips. “I take it you get the picture.”

“I’ve already committed to the lesson, Gale,” she grinned. “Might as well get my money’s worth.”

“Day _six_ ,” he lowered his brow, clearly not humored by her sarcasm, “The flesh around the mouth splits to make way for tentacles. Day seven: a mind flayer is born. This is the most annotated version, of course.”

“What you’re saying,” she shifted with crossed arms, “is that I can at least keep my sense of humor until the fifth day? I’d say we only have another night’s worth of laughs, Gale.”

“I’m glad your coping mechanism consists of deflecting the seriousness of this problem with jokes,” he replied.

“You’re no fun tonight,” she tilted her head to the side. “But no worries. We’re two days in. We should have clearly turned gray by now.”

“Spot on again,” he flicked a finger at her. “Orifices remain blissfully unbloodied. Our heads remain clear, and our blood temperature is normal. Any expert will agree: this is… abnormal.”

“Don’t question it so much,” she shrugged. “In all my existence, the only reason I owe my life to anything is because of the abnormal. I’m just lucky to be alive.”

“I’ll toast to that,” he smiled uneasily with a hint of intrigue. “The pragmatic in me, however, sees only the silence before the storm. Something to sleep on. We should get some rest.”

“Thank you for leaving me with that imagery,” she gave a slight nod. “I’m sure it will soothe me as I mediate tonight. Good night, Gale.”

“I’m only here to help,” he gave a half solute.

Ferelith grinned, waving her hand slightly to bid farewell as she retreated to her bedroll. They had acquired a few extra blankets. And she was lucky enough to procure an additional pillow. Leaning against her new luxurious cot was her pack, waiting patiently for her hands to dive into it. And standing directly across it from the fire, just as he was the night before, was Astarion. He seemed to be waiting as patiently as her pack.

“I saw you getting a lecture from our magical friend,” he said the moment she glanced in his direction.

“It was quite informative,” she took a break from straightening her blanket to address him. “Descriptive, at the very least.”

“I have to say,” he said leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “I thought you’d look worse. But no. Not a tentacle in sight.”

“Thank you?” she pulled back, turning a shoulder to him. “I’m hoping it will stay that way.”

“Naturally,” he rose a brow. “But I was thinking… what if it doesn’t?”

Ferelith had thought about what would happen if she did change. But the ever growing stubbornness inside her made her truly believe it would never happen. She was not willing to believe it. Nor was she willing to admit to anyone else that it was a possibility. He let the sentiment settle with her for a moment. Though he could see it had little impact. The blank stare with a slow blink signaled him to proceed.

“Of course,” he went on, tilting his chin to the side with a gleam in his eye, “first sign of change and I’ll have to stop that pretty little heart of yours.”

He almost seemed too excited at the thought of putting her down. Like a wild animal. She crossed her arms, as if to guard her chest from his stare. It did not matter, he could hear the sound of her pounding heart. And it had only grown louder from his statement.

“I am open to suggestions. Knives, poison, strangulation – whatever you’d prefer.”

“I’d prefer not to die,” she said dully.

“Well now you’re just being closed-minded,” he teased. “There are some lovely ways to go.”

“First I listen to Gale talk about the details of turning into a terrifying monster and now you’re telling me all the options I have in which you could kill me? Whoever said chivalry was dead must have no taste for macabre.”

“To be fair, _you_ were the one that pushed the wizard to give those wonderful details. I am giving you these options as a _gift_.”

“I am ever so grateful. Do go on about the beautiful ways in which I can ensue death,” she opened her arms, flicking her wrists in a manner as if she were receiving the said gift he spoke of.

“You know, I watched urchins freeze to death on the street. It looks peaceful – just like falling asleep.”

“Very poetic… I wonder if drowning feels the same.”

“Ha!” his shoulders fell back as he lifted his head with laughter. “Oh, come on. Humor me. If you had to choose…”

“Fine,” she took a deep breath with a few seconds of thought. “I suppose a knife. Straight to the chest. That seems quick.”

“A classic,” he nodded with approval. “One good _thrust_ to the heart and you’re gone. We need a good blade, of course. Don’t want to waste time hacking and prodding with a dinner half.”

It was the first time in a long time it had happened. The welling feeling in her chest. The tightening of her cheeks. The widening of the eyes. The burst of air from her mouths as her voice let out a loud series of rhythmic laughter. It caught her off guard. So much that she covered her mouth, leaning forward, and looking to Astarion with surprise. She rose her brows in disbelief that he had truly made her laugh.

“Well,” he said, leaning forward toward her like they were a couple of children cackling in school, “I’m getting ahead of myself. This is all a worst case scenario, obviously.”

“You’re terrible,” she giggled, lurching forward with one last tit of laughter. “What about you? Is there any way you’d like for me to end your life?”

“Oh, my dear,” he said with a condescending tone. “I’d like to see you try.”

Ferelith reared back, a bit offended that he held himself so much higher than herself. But she knew he was only testing her. Pushing her to see what sort of outcome he could obtain by doubting her strength.

“Dealer’s choice then,” she said firmly. “I’ll make sure it’s a _lovely_ surprise.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll disappoint me,” it was meant to be a positive reinforcement, but the way he said it still made it sound more like a threat. “Now, enough of this talk. Let’s get some rest. The sooner we start tomorrow, the better our chances of keeping this hypothetical.”

“I take it you’re joining us to the tiefling camp, then?”

“Of course, darling,” he replied. “I’ll go wherever you lead.”

“I’d be careful with those words,” she said darkly. “You’ll never know what path I’ll lead you toward.”

“Even better.”

She shook her head at his advancements with a foolish smirk she could not hide. “Good night, Astarion.”

“Good night, Ferelith.”

* * *

The next day brought a heavy fog over the camp, dampening both their supplies and their spirits. Ferelith could smell the moisture in the air and knew it would lift as the sun rose. And sure enough, the moment they began to snack on their morning rations they could see a bit of orange illuminating the sky. Their pace quickened and they got to their feet, ready to begin to their journey into a new part of the forsaken land they had been thrown into. The human, the gith, and the two elves made their way out of camp, leaving Shadowheart to sulk to herself as they had agreed to take Lae’zel to question the tieflings and seek further assistance for themselves against her wishes. Though Ferelith had promised the temple would come soon, as she had an interest in what laid within it herself.

The path was quite clear to the camp. And Ferelith wondered how they had missed it so easily before. Or perhaps, they had been far too occupied with their troubles and each other to pay attention to path carved among the rocks. She kicked at the dirt, still a bit dry despite the wet morning, and looked up to the back of her companion who was the only one who managed to sustain any of the information the tieflings had given before. He stopped for a moment, glancing behind him to smile at her, then looking to the others.

“I think we should take a moment to really prepare ourselves for this camp,” he said with an overthought of wishful thinking. “Our main goal is information. We don’t want to overwhelm them.”

“It’ll be fine, Gale,” Ferelith stated, slinging her pack over her shoulder. “We’re only asking a few questions. Getting supplies. There won’t be enough time to do any real damage.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gale whispered slightly to himself with a shrug. “I can think of a few things that could go wrong.”

She ignored him, rummaging through the items in her pack until she felt the cold texture of leather beneath her fingertips. Pulling them out, she gave them one good look before she turned Astarion.

“Here,” she handed him brown leather folded neatly to show the string tied at the top around the collar.

He took them, a bit disgruntled but willingly. Though he wasn’t sure what she expected him to do as she kept searching through the pack.

“Am I supposed to hold onto these?”

“Put them on,” she directed, otherwise paying no mind.

“Right now?” he dipped his head low as he questioned her, staring her in the eyes while waiting for her acknowledgment.

“Yes, right now,” she finally turned to look at him but only for a moment. “You’ve been wearing the same city clothes for days. You should put on some actual leather. One, because it’s more useful. And two, so you don’t look like a complete lost cause.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that last part because this is a very expensive doublet. And this blouse is of the finest threads in Baldur’s Gate.”

“I’m sure,” she grinned lovingly, looking back down into her pack.

Astarion tossed his new leather armor to the side to free his hands. He began to work on his doublet right away. It was already sliding down his arms when Ferelith looked up, catching the back of him in just his white shirt. He looked… nice. It almost made him feel more humble than he really was. Or at least, more approachable. His hands came up, his fingers loosening the collar. Still facing the rock, he pulled the shirt up and her eyes widened as he lifted it. His back flexed and his hands grasped the bottom of his shirt as he pulled it over. She swallowed… hard… as he turned around. What she had assumed was the doublet in all its puffed out glory… had been the actual thickness of the man’s chest. He was lean, but he far from frail. Seeing it off was a revelation and normally she would have felt annoyed at being so wrong about someone’s character. She inhaled a heavy dose of air, holding it for a few moments as she let her eyes wander. He shook the leather tunic out and she admired the muscle in his forearm tensing as he did. Slowly, she exhaled, observing him turn around with his arms raised trying to pull down the armor. She counted each curve of his abdomen with a small smile. Then, nodding with a bit of appreciation, she looked back down into her bag.

“Well, you certainly have no shame,” Gale nudged her.

“What?” she shrugged with a coy smile. “I’m in the wilderness. My eyes get hungry, too.”

“Careful. Some of the tastiest looking berries are the most poisonous.”

“Better than death by ceremorphosis.”

* * *

The back of Zevlor whisked away, his tail thrashed back and forth with irritation as he left. There was something about a tiefling that left an excitement behind for Ferelith. Like a small trail of flame. She breathed a heavy sigh, knowing that the flames would grow larger the longer she stared at them. After all, she had just witnessed them in battle. Turning to her comrades, she noticed a slight irritation within their faces.

“What are we messengers, now?” Astarion seemed particularly the worst.

Ferelith stepped close to him, too close for comfort. It made him shift backward, which is exactly what she wanted. He took several steps back just so she could hiss at him out of hearing range of anyone else. She kept her head down as she spoke.

“Listen, we keep all options open. There’s no agreeing. No disagreeing. If we’re stuck here, we best leave all doors open in case we need a way out. That means seeing what we can do about the druids.”

“Ah, I understand, now,” he said, his chest still out further than than his chin to keep her at bay. “This is the sort of thing we should have discussed before our arrival rather than my appearance.”

Ferelith blinked, her eyes gliding up toward him. “I didn’t expect you to complain in front of the whole sodding camp after watching one of them take an arrow to the chest.”

“Like it makes a difference? They’re all going to die anyway.”

Ferelith crossed her arms, her fingers tapping against her forearm. “If we’re not careful, we’ll die too.”

“Fine, fine,” he waved his hand.

“If you’re done,” Gale interrupted. “I believe there’s a merchant just down the hill.”

She gave him one last warning glance before she turned to the direction Gale was pointing. There was a small set up just on the edge of the camp beneath a stretch of a rock archway. It was a grand entrance, nothing at all comparable to a refugee camp. They followed the trail down, glancing further into it and noticing the make shift buildings and rails along the sides. They seemed misplaced to her. Even the shop they approached looked more like a scatter array of _things_ more than any kind of marketplace.

“Refugees… adventurers. No one in years. And suddenly, we’re overwhelmed. Well me,” he greeted them begrudgingly. “Thank you for beating back those goblins. Most brave of you.”

“I do what I can,” she shrugged, not feeling quite worthy of his gratitude just yet.

“Is there anything you need? Act fast if you do. The ritual will be complete before too long.”

“I do,” she paused, observing Astarion round the display. “We’re a bit short on supplies. But we do have a bit of coin. Are they really locking down the grove? I was hoping to rely on the business here for a short time.”

“I know it’s drastic, but more monsters seem to terrorize this region every day.”

“And the tieflings?”

“We druids will be safe-”

The sound of the merchant drowned as she became distracted by Astarion looking through the array of weaponry. She watched as he ran his fingers over the blades along the table, glancing at her with a mischievous smirk. Her eyes shifted back to the vendor, trying to pay attention as best she could. But she kept wandering back to the rogue. He held up a knife, displaying it for her with a raised brow. She shook her head slightly. But he ignored her, giving the air a few jabs and shrugging, setting it back down with a frown. The next one he picked up, waving a hand down in it like it were a grand prize. She swallowed the lump forming to stop herself from bursting with laughter. It did not work and she was forced to clear her throat rather loudly.

“It sounds like these are dire times,” she blinked to regain her focus.

“You sound just like Khaga.”

“Are these the only weapons for sale?” Astarion interrupted, setting down the knife he was holding with a loud thud.

“These are the only ones I am selling,” he lowered his brow. “There’s a blacksmith further into the camp. Though I’m not sure he has much to offer.”

“Thank you,” Ferelith said loud enough to draw his attention back. “Here’s what I have for… oh, I think a few potions will do.”

“Of course.”

She passed Gale the bottles as they were handed to her who began to slip them into the back of her pack. Astarion had lost interest in the wares and moved back to Lae’zel who was impatiently waiting behind them. Her stare was into the gorge, examining the tieflings as if she were able to spot the one with the information she needed. Ferelith was certain she would have already caused chaos if they were not with her. As she turned around, she could hear Astarion grumbling into her ear.

“Things are about to get a lot more dire with those sad excuses for weapons.”

“You’re going to get us kicked out,” she said as she brushed by the two of them. “Let’s find the blacksmith. Find the lead. And get out.”

“Is the blacksmith necessary?” the gith rolled her eyes.

“Yes,” Ferelith said firmly. “I’ve only got two bolts for my crossbow. The ones Astarion found are useless.”

“I warned you,” he shrugged.

“A snapped bolt could have meant my death.”

“It wouldn’t have been my first attempt to kill you.”

“Nor the last,” she said over her shoulder as she trailed further down into the camp.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems like they're getting along doesn't it? It'd be a shame if that go ruined... somehow... o.O


	6. The Trouble of Secrets

“Is that it? Down there?” Ferelith peered over the edge of the cliff, shouting behind her as the roaring of the waterfall drowned out her voice. “Not much of a sanctuary is it?”

The ruined stone nestled into the grove below were nothing but rocks to her as she searched the area for anything note-worthy. From what she gathered, it was an area designated to the druids and a sanctioned place for their ritual. Other than that, everything else seemed a makeshift bandaid toward any attempt to reconstruct the architecture of the original temple that once existed. The stonework that remained standing was impressive in itself. But it seemed overshadowed by the poor craftsmanship of the woodwork, similar to what the tiefling camp was built around. With a disappointed huff, she pulled herself away.

“Let’s take a look at the rest of the camp. I’d like to hear a few more things about the druids before we head down there.”

“You don’t think we should introduce ourselves?” Gale crossed his arms, examining her closely. “The tieflings mentioned a healer was among them.”

“Did they?” she raised her brow. “I believe anyone with potential was said to be missing.”

“Ah, but there was a brief word about an apprentice.”

“I’m not interested in a druid apprentice,” she almost snarled, a wrinkle forming on her nose.

“We’re all in need of assistance, here,” he became stern with a lowered brow. “I can’t imagine putting off this kind of information. What sort of vendetta do you have?”

“I don’t,” she said quickly with a shrug to hide her hesitance. “I simply feel this is a problem more complicated that requires further assistance. Far from what an apprentice could provide.”

“And you think we’ll find something different with the rumors of refugees?”

“I think the tieflings will be desperate enough to help in any way they can. Rather than throw ourselves at the mercy of those running everyone out of the grove, why don’t we lend an ear to the needy?”

“She might be right,” Astarion pulled at his belt. “People in desperation are rather chatty.”

“Or we could stop wasting time. We have the location we need marked on the map. Let us be done with this place,” Lae’zel added her piece.

Ferelith had not trusted a single word of information she had received thus far. Every possibility for a cure to her brain problem seemed ironically far-fetched. Given her circumstances were unusual, she did not know why the suggestion of an obscure solution seemed so unlikely. Still, the idea of a gith camp made her uneasy and the thought of a druid healer made her sick.

“I want to at least speak with Zevlor, the tiefling’s leader, once more,” she stepped past her comrades. “I’d like to get a better idea of what we’re walking into down there.”

The focus was originally meant for striding back through the camp. Instead, it was directed toward to small orange eyes that caused her to pause. They belonged to a tiefling boy, not much older than the ones training on the platform above. Behind him was a poorly made table filled with an array of what she could only imagine were crafted items.

“Going so soon?” he grinned. “I couldn’t help but overhear your troubles. I might have something that could help.”

“I doubt that,” she scoffed.

“Hang on, lady,” he held out his hands. “Hold out your hand. Let me show you something.”

The small red hands of the child were quick, she had to admit. But still, she could tell it was the sleight of his hands that made the ring appear from thin air. Between his fingers was a single tarnished ring.

“Go on. Take it. It’s lucky.”

Ferelith humored him, taking it into her grasp. Between two fingers, she held up to her eye-level and began to wonder what sort of nonsense she might find in it.

“Call it,” he nodded, holding up a coin. “Heads? Or tails?”

“Heads,” she answered firmly.

The coin was flipped into the air, landing square into the center of his palm. The coin sat face-up.

“Heads it is,” he said confidently. “See? That’s the kind of luck you need. And you can get it with one of my lucky rings. I’ve got plenty more where that came from. Real cheap, too. Interested?”

“These runes are terrible,” she said, looking down at the ring with hardly any interest in the coin at all. “They’re gibberish.”

“Hey! Not so loud,” he hissed at her, grabbing at her hands to pull them back down.

Ferelith dodged his desperate attempts, stepping backward and holding the ring up further.

“This… looks like a smiley face,” she squinted.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed. “You caught me. They’re not lucky rings. I’m just… trying to earn money for my family. My father left and my mother… she’s so sick.”

He was lying. She was certain of it. Some children would line up just outside the alleyway across her shop. That alleyway was the same she would use to navigate quickly within the lower district of Baldur’s Gate. It was a quick shortcut, an access point, and a good source of information. There were often she would leave her window open, listening to the shouts of some poor swindled soul calling out to catch a thief. The alleys were swarming with urchins and pickpockets. She knew their games. To avoid their wrath, she would bring them sweets or simply a loaf of bread to feed them for the night. It kept her in their favor, but she always knew what to look for.

“I wish I had better things to sell than… trinkets. But it’s all I have.”

Ferelith crossed her arms, sticking her bottom lip out with large eyes to mimic the child. For a moment, he thought it was empathy. But he was quickly corrected by a jesting grin as the corner of her mouth turned upward.

“I’m not buying it, kid,” she laughed.

“I, uh… don’t know what you mean.”

“This is a Tinker’s Trash… and a clumsy one at that.”

“You know that really hurts. I’m running an honest- wait. Okay, what’s a Tinker’s Trash?”

“It’s when a scammer offers the target a ‘magic’ object-”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded eagerly.

“-then rigs a game to gain the target’s trust to sell them trash.”

“Interesting,” he paused for a moment, “And I promise this isn’t a Tinker’s Trash scam.”

“Then what kind of scam is it?”

“Look, I swear. These rings are the real deal. I’m not running a scam.”

“Alright,” she looked down at the ring with the scratched fake runes.

The children in Baldur’s Gate were clever, much like the little fiend before her. But not all children were so lucky. The desperation of the camp reminded her of the harsh ways of living within the underbelly of large cities. There wasn’t always a place for children to go. Which meant even if the tieflings ever made it, some of the orphaned children wouldn’t last a second in the dirty streets of the lower district.

“Let’s see what else you have,” she nodded.

“You’re paying for that one, aren’t you?”

Ferelith grinned wickedly. “Consider this your first word of advice: don’t let the target hold the product for too long. Or else the swindler will be swindled. It’s a free sample, now.”

“I’m not- you know what… it’s fine. You’ll feel way more confident once you’ve seen the rest of my stock.”

The trinkets scattered about the table were arranged quite nicely considering it was all literal garbage. One ring she picked up was covered in ants. She turned it over in her hand. Then picked up another ring. The child next to her was excitedly describing their properties and some came with stories of how they came into his possession. Children were typically creatures Ferelith did not gain any joy from. This brat in particular, however, brought a cheeky grin to her face. She purchased three of the rings.

“You bought something,” he said looking down at the coins she placed in his hand. “Most everybody says it looks like junk and moves on.”

“What can I say? I like collecting junk,” she shrugged, hiding the hint of the smile.

“Well, it’s a pleasure doing business with you. If you have any further need, you know where I’ll be. Take care!”

Just before she turned, she caught the quick wink to another tiefling who lingered off to the side. He appeared very nervous and simply gave a slight wave as their eyes met. Feeling rather pleased with herself, she approached the others near the edge of the cliff. Astarion had a rather irritated look upon his face from what she could gather. Then again, the expression had not left from the moment they entered the camp. Ferelith did the best she could to avoid him but found it impossible as he quickly hovered over her.

“You’re joking right?” his voice was harsh in her ear.

“What is it, now?” she said, sliding one of the rings with rubbish runes onto her finger.

“You’re just going to let them rob you?”

“They didn’t _rob_ me,” she rolled her eyes.

“You bought actual garbage with gold.”

“What would you have me do?” she seemed rather interested in his response.

“They’re children. You could easily take it back. It might teach them a lesson.”

“And what lesson is that?” her head turned, her nostrils flaring with a cold stare. “That the strong can take what they want? That shouldn’t lessen the idea that the weak can survive.”

“The strong take what they want because they’ve earned that right,” he lowered his brow.

“We were all weak, once,” she rolled another ring around the palm of her hand. “Luck is what granted us the opportunity to become stronger. The only thing the strong have properly earned is the gratitude to have made the right choice and boasting rights.”

“Luck?” he appeared baffled by her statement. “That has nothing to do with it, darling. It’s all about dedication to gain power. A proper tool of strength.”

“Strength means nothing if you don’t know how to use that power,” she retorted. “And that is maintained by learning to avoid weakness. Besides… there is a chance the brat might come in handy.”

“I can’t see how a vile devil spawn with an eye for trash could be of use.”

“Don’t be so cross,” she mocked him with a false look of defeat. “I got something for you, too.”

The ring flipped up with a toss of her thumb. And he caught it, looking down and seeing the same thing he saw before. A piece of metal scrapped together.

“Wonderful,” he looked at it. “What does it do?”

“It makes you _really_ invisible,” she grinned, walking back toward the entrance of the grotto.

“I don’t need invisibility.”

“You sure?” she tilted her head. “I believe I recall a bottle of acid smashed on the back of you during the battle at the gate. You were quite stealthy then, weren’t you?”

“I hope the money you spent on this just to insult me was worth it,” he grumbled behind her, tucking the trinket into his pocket as he listened to her chuckle.

“I believe it was,” she glanced over her shoulder with a suggestive wink.

* * *

Even after a day combing through the camp, Ferelith had found no healer. Plenty of leads that pointed her to one, but not a single healer in her current sights. Not one worth the risk, at any rate. All she had discovered was a camp full of unresolved tension with a burnt-out leader reader to snuff out his opponent with a sack of coin. Tempting as it may have been, she still considered the resolve to be attainable and wanted to avoid any further conflict that might jeopardize her chance of receiving a cure. Even with that setting as the main course for thought, there was still something juicier that caught the attention of her hunger named curiosity. It was the man she had met in the grove. The one who had dismissed her so quickly for assuming he had taken a pact as she had. Her thoughts fluttered back to the image of the cambion she saw, her wings stretched out to show her true form in all its beauty. Though the sight of it was but a glimpse, Ferelith was certain of what she had witnessed in his mind.

Slinging her pack off her shoulder and tossing it to the ground, she turned with the intention to approach him. He met her gaze as she grew near with a welcoming smile. He had been waiting all evening and expected she was eager to speak with him.

“Salutations,” he greeted her politely.

“Blade of the Frontiers,” she held out a hand, and he grasped it gently.

“Living legend, in the flesh,” he boasted with a good shake. “Slayer of specters. Killer of kobolds. The pride of Baldur’s Gate.”

“So they say,” she shook her head teasingly as he let go of her.

“Ah, so you’ve heard the stories?”

“I have,” her smile grew. “The wonderful tales that they are.”

“All true, I might add. Won’t be long before they’re telling new tales. Mind flayers, flying ships, dragon attacks- the legend grows!”

“Mind flayers and dragons are quite the stretch from kobolds,” she crossed her arms. “I assume you have an idea of how to handle this, then?”

“There’s an old saying I just made up,” he tossed his hand carelessly. “To fell a dragon, you must chop off its head.”

“I see,” she nodded slowly. “So... you have no idea.”

“Hold on,” he held up a hand. “These goblins are organized. It’s no hamhead pulling the strings. We slither through their camp and off their leaders, quick as crickets.”

“Take out the ones pulling the strings and the puppets have no one to follow. Not a bad plan, but I never imagined goblins would be the type to fall in line. Are you sure they’re as organized as you say?”

“Positive,” he sounded firm. “I’ve learned at least that much while defending the camp.”

“You said you were waiting for Halsin,” she stated. “Why risk your life for the tieflings?”

“Did you see those kids back at the grove? They should be chasing frogs, climbing trees. Not training for battles they can’t win. Those people look at me and they see a hero. Imagine how bad they’d feel if they were wrong.”

Dark thoughts weaved their way into her mind as she saw the selfish side of the pride of a hero. The downfall of the tieflings meant damage to his reputation. Then again, something about what he said was true. If it wasn’t, she would not be wearing a fake magic ring on her finger. And she would be a liar if she said she felt any different about them.

“It is an unfortunate situation.”

“I disagree,” he said firmly. “Fortune has brought us to their aid.”

Ferelith turned her head, eyeing him with distinct suspicion at the tone in his voice. It brought her back around to the sole purpose of why she had a desire to speak with him. But it also had made her question what he had seen when they crossed memories. If she had found the cambion, what had he discovered within her memories?

“Your eye,” she stated lightly while trying to sway the subject. “… it’s a bit unusual.”

“Now, now” he held out a hand to keep her at bay. “I always save the best stories for my closest friends and my cruelest enemies. Get to be one of those, and I’ll spill the whole jug.”

Her posture softened, but the intensity of her gaze never left.

“You get that, right? Spill the whole jug? Ugh- guess I’ll toss that one into the heap.”

Ferelith had already seen enough to know that there was something else to suspect of Wyll. This game he was playing by being coy was enough to keep her interest, but not enough to prevent her from becoming impatient. Her eyes were sharp and she leaned forward a bit with a knowing stare. She could see the grooves carved into his eye, much like stone. She had seen something like it before. Not recently, but during her time in Neverwinter, she had witnessed two colleagues exchanging them before setting off on a journey.

“It looks like a sending stone.”

Wyll threw himself into a fit of laughter. “A what now? Goodness, but it’s just a bit of rock- nothing so special, I assure you.”

The lifting spirits in his voice would have thrown anyone else off course. But Ferelith was keen to notice his jaw clench at the mention of the magic stone. He knew she was far too cunning to outsmart. She narrowed her eyes at his lies, a sign that she knew something of his secret. She would hold it… for now.

“If you say so,” she smiled.

It sounded far more sinister than it should. And he watched as her black hair swirled around her shoulder as she whipped around to leave him to his own bidding. His brow lowered as he glared at her back, watching as if he were about to see some demon rip from her spine. Just as she had seen what lie beneath his thoughts, he saw deep into her. It was a tall dark shadow with his hands placed upon her shoulders. He loomed over her, hovering like a heavy reminder of whatever deal they had made. Ferelith was never shy to admit she was a warlock. Yet he did note that there had been no mention of what her patron was. Or what sort of power she received.

Ferelith had reason to be concerned with what Wyll had seen. If she was correct in her assumption that they had exchanged knowledge of their patrons, and if the angered outburst had truly come from a darker place within, then she knew her passenger was still on board. It put her to ease, but the troubled thoughts remained as to why he remained silent. So silent, in fact, that she could not even feel him burrowing into the depths of her thoughts. Then, there was an idea that the worm in her had was so tangible, so heavy, that maybe his projected form was simply too light in comparison. The sudden realization was so profound that she felt the need to make note of it. To write it down along with all the other sort of information she gathered that day.

Rummaging through her bag she found the ink and quill she had been keeping. And with a sigh, she pulled out her books, one carefully at a time. Among them was a red book. She looked at it curiously. She did not remember this book. As she opened the pages, she noticed they were blank. She leaned forward to smell them. The book was new. And the outside smelled of leather and sweet cherry wood. It brought back a memory. And she knew it should have been there before, but it wasn't. This was a gift.

Her hand ran across the leather as she remembered the last face she saw before she was kidnapped. But then something occurred to her... what if it wasn't the last face. What if there were more memories that she was missing? She couldn't even remember how she was taken. All she could recall was stone. The cold numbing feeling through her head. And the blackness surrounding her vision. If she was receiving the gift that night, then she must have been taken on her way home. That was the only explanation from what she could gather.

She searched further into the back of her head, looking for the voice that usually appeared as a potential source for answers. It remained silent. Her gaze fell up to the sky, feeling a bit remorseful at the temporary loss of her inner companion. Still, she had the journal. And she was relieved she had something to remind her of herself. Her gaze shifting down, she wondered how her other companions had been captured. She had seen brief memories of them. But what if they, too, had part of their memory removed as she did. Her eyes fell onto Astarion and her heart jumped for a moment. It appeared he was feeling sentimental as well. The attraction she had felt for him reared its ugly head once again. He sat back in the grass, his legs kicked out as he looked into the sky. She wondered what it was that intrigued his thoughts. She could use the tadpole. But if anything was going to keep her patron at bay, it would be the exploitation of their newly arrived tag along. Instead, she stood up, tucking the journal into her pocket before making her way to the elf.

"It's quite a sight," he said as he felt her approach.

He did not turn his eyes away from the sky. And she noticed the pleased expression he wore. It suited him, but she felt it was out of character considering how smug his previous smirks had been.

"The stars, I mean," he clarified, finally meeting her gaze. "I could take or leave your chin."

He caught the hint of a smile, an indication he had picked up the teasing tone which matched that of her own during previous conversations. She hid it well and even glanced over her shoulder to confirm that Lae’zel was still too busy sharpening her sword to eavesdrop. The light from the fire reflected off her face and he could see the highlight of her cheekbones. As she turned back to face him, he held his tongue. He kept the sight of her for a moment before looking back up.

"Am I bothering you?"

"No," he said softly. "Just thinking... Reflecting on what tomorrow might bring. When we arrive at this... gith creche."

The use of his enunciation was unnecessary, though she still felt her fingers twitch at her side. She rubbed her fingertips against her thumb to hide the subtle notion, a reminder that what was tangible was far more real than what a voice could provide. His words felt fabricated. Yet, the way his mouth moved when he spoke was still so very enticing.

"Will we find out how to bring the worm under control? Will this little adventure of ours be over?"

"I imagine that is likely" she directed rather casually.

Astarion's face dropped as he drew his attention back to her face. It seemed as though she was not taunting him this time. He began to question her motive. Whatever she had back in Baldur’s Gate must have been far more suitable than whatever he had to offer. Why would she stay? Why would she risk her life more than she already had? What was it that she wanted to return to?

"A pity..." he frowned with a nod of endearment. "A _great_ pity."

He sighed, sitting up to push his hands off the ground and onto his feet. He dusted them off onto his pants and she took the moment to admire his jagged profile while he remained occupied. As jagged as it may be, there were still features that brought softness to his face. For one, his eyes that he could make rather large at any given moment. And the way his hair curled perfectly around his pointed ears. A man so prominent, so smug, so proud... did not seem the type to have such playful curls. She acted as if nothing was humorous about them at all, however, when he looked her in the eyes again.

"I hate to disappoint you," she stated in a rush, "but I doubt you'd miss me that much."

"Of course I would," he proclaimed with his eyes fixated on hers. "You've been to the Hells and back! Survived the crash. Survived everything that's followed. I'm not easily impressed by people. But you're stronger than I gave you credit for."

"I didn't know I appeared to be so weak," she lowered her brow. "I've always been renowned to be rather impressive."

Ferelith brushed her hair from the side of her neck, placing her beauty further into the light of the fire when she turned her head. Her sullen eyes, high cheeks, pointed nose, pursed lips... they all illuminated before him. There was a dark presence to her, one he could not name. But the feeling of it alone was welcoming to him. He glared at her temple, wondering if he could tap into her thoughts without her noticing. But he was not willing to risk it. Instead, he found the nerves that ran through her skull... the pounding of her heart. He followed the sound to her neck, tense from their conversation... She was impressive, indeed.

"And aren't you just," he found himself muttering.

Beautifully frustrated with a thumping rhythm sounding before him as his own personal concerto. It made him wander away from camp. Away to places where he could take her beneath the trees under the cover of shadows. It was more than just taking her blood. It was taking her... all of her...

"Are you alright?"

Her voice brought him back in front of her. In front of the blasted campfire.

"Hmm?" he hummed as he regained himself. "Oh, uh, I was leagues away."

"You're... staring..." she was stuck between question and concern.

There was no point in telling lies any longer. He was, in fact, staring. Though... the reasons were a bit muddled, even in his own mind.

"Was I? I just..." he held his breath, still unsure of his intentions but knowing the hunger was now committed. "I just need to get some... air. Clear my head."

"That's not strange at all…"

There was an urge to dispute her rebuttal, but he stopped himself from saying another word. He would hate to end this moment poorly. One so beautiful as she looked at him from down her nose, her chin held upright as she smirked with amusement as she had cornered him into an awkward circumstance. She was enjoying this. Seeing him struggle. He made note of it as he stepped slightly backward, ready to leave before he endangered himself any further.

"I'll see you later, then," he bowed slightly. "I'm sure of it. Sleep tight."

"Right," she nodded. "Enjoy your air, Astarion."

"Yes," he mumbled under his breath. "My _air_..."

**Author's Note:**

> WIP... more will be added and coming soon....


End file.
